


The Avengers Get a Hangover

by AmyAllex



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyAllex/pseuds/AmyAllex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers meet The Hangover or the time where Tony enforces team bonding and kidnaps them to Las Vegas, Asgardian-alcohol induced hijinks ensue, Loki makes an appearance, Fury has anger-issues and they sort of lose Banner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Hastily added because I realized I had forgotten to write one)  
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hangover, The Avengers, any Marvel character or recognizable brand. I own the order in which the words are written and that's about it. Story written to (hopefully) make people smile (in legal terms, for entertainment only).
> 
> Also, unrevised so feel free to point out any mistakes you find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Confession time: I’m not huge on fanfiction. I don’t read it often (lack of time and a tendency to find the angstiest of fanfics, where everyone dies and I cry a whole lot) or write it (again, lack of time and weirdness about playing with other people’s toys). I’ve tried to write it a couple of times over the years, but never quite managed it.  
> Then Capsicleroger’s tumblr happened and now all I want to do is write Avengers fanfic. If you don’t know it http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/ go forth, marvel and shower her with love. This fanfiction is inspired by the gif set http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover.  
> 2\. Apart from my childhood obsession with Spiderman, I never read any comic books, so everything is entirely movie based. Glaring mistakes and pop culture references are likely to exist. Also Coulson isn't dead.  
> 

Nick Fury was not a happy man. That might be a bit of an understatement actually; in his every day life, Nick Fury was not a happy man (manipulative, controlling, sketchy, abusive, downright annoying were the words some of his field agents most often used), but right then and there, he wasn’t just unhappy, was livid. He was infuriated. He was blindingly enraged. He was…

In need of a dictionary. And maybe a cup of coffee.

“Hill?” He looked from the ceiling-to-floor window, feeling atypical unease about being in Stark’s _lair_ and not the (relative) safety of the Helicarrier.

Efficient as always, Maria Hill was by his side in a few seconds, positioned every bit like the soldier she was, even if she didn’t see the field as much these days as she had once upon a time. “Sir?”

“Any word from them yet?”

“Not yet sir.” She didn’t give him false reassurances, because he would hear none. She hadn’t gotten to be his second in command by being condescending.

Still, he couldn’t help but seethe. “And then they have the nerve of asking why we don’t trust them, why they’re so closely monitored. We give them one night, one measly night, and they go ahead and…”

“Director Fury, sir?” One of the computer techs held his hand up slowly, fearfully, like he didn’t want to be the one to interrupt Fury’s ranting. Fury localized the tech that had spoken, sitting in the middle of the makeshift control room they had set up in Stark’s living room.

“Yes, what is it?” The tech paled, obviously not used to being the sole focus of the director’s one eyed, but still quite intimidating, intense stare.

“We uh, we have Iron Man on the line, sir.”

Really? _Really_? After disappearing for 42 hours without a trace and refusing to answer any type of communications system they were willingly calling? **Really**?

Sometimes Nick Fury hated his job. The days where he had to play the role of psychologist slash wet-nurse to a group of oversized children were amongst those times. Still, when he next spoke, his voice was the perfect tone of steel.

“Put him on speaker.”

 

Across the country, on the side of a dusty road, Tony Stark was not a happy man. He stood outside a beaten old WW van, sunglasses perched precariously at the bridge of his nose, white, once expensive looking shirt, ripped and dirty, hair messy and matted with dry sweat in odd places, tacky, chunky, gold wedding band on his ring finger glistening in the sunlight and worsening his pulsing headache. Inside the van, the people he reluctantly called friends were in equal states of disarray; Steve was sitting on the passenger’s seat, knees drawn to his chest, trying to look smaller than his muscular self, Natasha looked greyer than normal, more unpolished, leaning against Clint’s snoozing, half drugged form and Thor… Well, Thor was polishing Mjolnir and looking his usual, carefree self, wide smile and everything, like nothing was wrong, like they weren’t royally screwed. Like Fury wasn’t going to skin them all alive and do horrible, horrible things to their carcasses.

_Oh Lord, Afhganistan couldn’t kill me, but Ragetti might. Please no, I’m too brilliant to die. And handsome. And…_

Tony sighed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to imagine a world where his life wasn’t a pandemonium. “Hey Director Anger-Issues, it’s Iron Man here.”

**“I know it’s you Stark, it may come as a surprise, but we have your number on our priority list.”**

“I wonder why… listen, we have a problem.” This would have actually been fun (torturing the good director was, after all, a favorite pastime of Tony’s), if they weren’t in such deep shit. “So there we were, team bonding and everything, having a jolly old time, when one thing led to another and…”

 ** _“STARK!”_ ** Not the time to be his typical rambling self, got it.

“Long story short… Things got out of hand and… We sort of lost Banner.”

 **“What do you mean, you lost Banner?”** And of course, Nicky’s voice sounded appropriately freaked out, a fine mix of shock and utter fear. A Hulk on the loose was never a good thing, on anyone’s book (except maybe Loki’s, but the demi-god’s head was a curious, curious thing). **“You need to return immediately. The intergalactic peace conference is in less than 12 hours Stark. In New York. The Avengers need to be there. ALL OF THEM.”**

Tony took a deep breath, collected what little cool he still had, and answered calmly. “Yeah… That’s not going to happen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Inspiration is still the wonderful gift set by capsiclerogers http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover  
> 2\. I should warn that this is all pre-relationships, so there’s a lot of pining and crushing. The rest will come with time (and by time, I mean a couple of chapters). Also this is a comedy and if you suspend reality, you’ll probably enjoy it far more.  
> 3\. I have a passionate love for parentheses and use them excessively. Sorry in advance.  
> Enjoy!

**Thirty Something Hours Earlier**

**New York City**

“Well, that was a smashing success, if I might say so myself.” Tony said with a smirk that was probably meant to be a smile, if it was on anyone else’s face but his. He entered The Avenger’s Tower’s (formerly Stark Tower) main living room cheerily, while JARVIS took care to remove his suit. Without missing a beat, he strutted to the bar and poured himself a fair amount of scotch, taking a satisfied sip. When he looked back at the rest of his living room, his team-mates/friends/dysfunctional family members sprawled through the couches and floor in various states of undress and griminess, he fount them staring at him incredulously. “No?”

Natasha was the one to answer, sitting on her heels and pressing an ice pack to her ribs. “We were just attacked by Kree, who somehow managed to break Bruce’s record and destroy all of Harlem in a few hours while searching for Scrulls.” Bruce trembled beneath his blanket. He was sitting on the floor, near Natasha’s feet, only in his boxers, still recovering from the other guy’s visit. The medical team always wanted to keep him after the transformations, but he refused. It was just shock. He had a blanket, he was fine. Natasha ignored him and kept staring at Tony with a glare that could (and sometimes did) match Fury’s (but didn’t quite rival Pepper’s). “Tell me Stark, how is that a success?”

Everyone else seemed to agree with Natasha and Tony had to roll his eyes. “I work with a bunch of drama queens.” He refilled his glass, ignoring Steve’s (leaning against the wooden bar, unconsciously inching closer to Tony, like he always did when they were in the same room) reproaching look or Clint’s (lying spread eagle on the carpet, like the jackass he was) envious one. He also ignored the fact that out of all of the Avengers, he was probably the most overdramatic one. Instead he started enumerating: “One, we killed the things and saved the day; two, I don’t think a whole lot of people even got hurt, considering how quickly Coulson had us on the scene; three, the damages are covered by yours truly and four, did I mention we saved the day? Because we did. So cheer up my peeps, we did good and New York can rest safely for another day.”

Pep talks aren’t Tony’s thing, if we’re being honest. Considering his own notion of self worth is stitched together with duct tape and ratty string, he really isn’t one to make other’s feel warm and fuzzy about themselves. That’s Steve’s job. Perfect, wholesome, ( _unattainable_ ), wonderful Steve, who believed in them and was able to rally them up when no one else (fake deaths aside) could. But that miserable Friday, not even Steve, who still had a cut on his face half unhealed and the bottom part of his suit with a random SHIELD t-shirt, could spit out a few encouraging words.

Truth be told, they were having a miserable week. On top of a miserable month. That followed a not so great semester.

Life of a superhero was not all that it was cracked up to be and it seemed like, even if there was an abundance of them, what with Xavier’s kids walking around, the fantastic foursome always sticking their noses everywhere, and the ever so annoying (but ultimately lovable) Spidey covering criminals in industrial strength web, the Avengers were still in high demand. There wasn’t a week where they weren’t called to fight one monster or another and invariably save the world. It might be empowering and exciting, but it was also taxing. Specially when considering the fact that not every civilian survived, and they saw their share of death and failure.

It had all taken a toll on them. They were exhausted. And if Steve couldn’t cheer them up (and the man looked so much like a lost puppy, the _geniusbillionaireplayboyphilanthropist_ wanted to do unspeakable things to him), Tony had to.

“That’s it, I’ve had it with you lot and your moping.” He let the fact that he did most of the hiding in the labs and sulking when he wasn’t trying to be the team’s cheerleader (what? Steve’s methods consisted on chocolate chip cookies and cuddles, Tony wasn’t man enough to resist that) slide. He was remarkably good at foregoing his own faults while simultaneously pointing them out in others. “We’re all going to pack a weekend bag and get out of the city for two days. Be normal people, instead of earth’s mightiest heroes for 48 hours. We’ll come back after some R&R good as new.” _And hopefully less depressed._

Despite the fact that it was a _magnificent_ idea, Tony’s suggestion was met by five blank stares. “The Peace Conference is Sunday Tony, we can’t just disappear.” Because Tony’s idea of relaxation did not include having any member of SHIELD tracking them down, so it would be an undercover sort of weekend. Fun, but practically impossible.

Practically being key world. Tony lived for the practically.

His smile only widened at Steve’s weak opposition. “We’ll be back by then. We’ll take one of the jets and be back prim and proper to play Fury’s puppets by Sunday night. What do you say?” They still didn’t look convinced. “Come on guys, don’t make me beg.” He wouldn’t, not really. (Well, maybe if Steve kept biting his lower lip like that…)

“I say we take the journey Man of Iron suggests.” Thor boomed, because the man does not know how to _talk_ , a heartening smile lightening up his features. Even the easy-going god had been having a hard time lately, what with the absence of Dr. Foster, so the quick acceptance wasn’t expected. “It has been many a nights since we have gone out of the edges of this city and had some proper fun, as you Midgardians say.” He may not be completely up to speed on pop culture, but he was getting there (movie marathons were wonderful team bonding activities). He was especially fond of the eighties, which amused Tony to no end.

Tony looked at the others expectantly. Natasha and Clint had a silent conversation (those two would never not be creepy in the way they seemed to share a brain) and nodded their consent. “As long as we’re able to bring our weapons.” Conceded Clint, unwilling to part with his bow for very long.

“Private jets have their benefits.” Tony acquiesced quite easily, because truth be told, he wouldn’t go anywhere without at least one of his suits. “Bruce?” He turned to his fellow genius, his science bro, the man who he had come to regard as a true friend over lab experiments and one ill advised explosive rocket, with pleading eyes. Bruce gave him a good-natured smile, looking less pale than a few minutes before and nodded as well. If Clint’s hand was drumming a silent beat on his shoulders and accelerating the recovery process, then no one said a word.

When Tony turned to the captain, his captain, he didn’t even have to ask to see the reluctant acceptance in the man’s eyes. Instead of giving his answer, Steve asked a question of his own, a smile tugging at his lips, blue eyes lighter and skin almost completely regenerated. “So, where to Tony?”

Tony’s eyes sparkled with something akin to mischief. “Vegas, baby.”

 

**Las Vegas**

Tony Stark was richer than God. Objectively, Steve knew the billionaire in the _geniusbillionaireplayboyphilanthropist_ wasn’t an exaggeration on Tony’s part (the man was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them). He lived in the Tower, he trained in the fully equipped gym, he saw the wondrous things that came out of the lab daily, he talked to JARVIS, for goodness sake! But still, he had a hard time comprehending just how vast his friend’s fortune was. He tended to forget until it was forced upon him.

The Vegas Weekend, as it would be remembered in future years, was the epitome of all that Tony Stark, not the genius, not the reluctant hero, not the friend (well, a little bit the friend), but the public figure, represented. It was a flashback of what Tony’s life had been, just a few short years prior.

Barely 6 hours after the half demented suggestion was uttered in the place they only semi sarcastically called home, and a white limo ( _“If we’re doing this Cap, we might as well do it right. Tackiness included.”)_ was pulling in front of the Bellagio. Steve hadn’t stopped gaping since they left the jet and the sight of the hotel certainly wasn’t a reason to.

It was massive and lavish and... And like a million other things in this century, Steve wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“Chin off the floor Cap, drooling is unbecoming of a man of your stature.” Tony quipped, getting out of the limo and buttoning his coat, like he owned the place (which Steve was only sure he didn’t because it didn’t have the Stark name on it; Tony was a bit like Donald Trump when it came to naming his property). They had stopped in front of a side door, instead of the luxurious main entrance, to lay low presumably, and immediately hotel clerks came out to get their bags. No one tried to stop them, despite the fact that either of them could have carried all the bags alone; the super spies did follow their bags closely, making sure no shenanigans happened to their precious weapons. Trying not to look as enthralled as he felt, Steve ushered the rest of the team (a distracted Thor and an uncomfortable Bruce) to the lobby. “You act like you’ve never been to Vegas Steve, when I have personally been here with you a couple of times.”

They walked into the, clearly private, side-lobby and without saying a word to anyone, were escorted to a narrow hallway. Tony had obviously called ahead and paid their way into a version of anonymity. “Missions against evil don’t count Tony.” As Captain America, leader of the Avengers, he saw little more than building schematics, strengths, weaknesses, battle plans and ways to protect civilians. As Steve, he was able to truly absorb his surroundings. And despite the sense of plasticity and excessiveness, Vegas was nothing if not impressive. “I think I’m allowed to be overwhelmed by something that didn’t exist back… before.”

Tony glanced at him for a second, a fleeting quirk of lips and fond look on his eyes, before being back to his self-assured, bigger than life self. There was still so much Steve didn’t know about the world, so much yet to see…

“I have to say Stark, you’re a good asset to have as a friend.” Clint remarked, once the hotel clerked had been tipped and dismissed. Tony had booked them one of the exclusive Villas, which consisted of a vast living/dining/all purpose room, with four attached bedrooms and a private courtyard with a pool. Decorated with an extravagance that touched the baroque, it was a mile different from the Tower, which leaned more towards the modern minimalist, but still had the same feel of opulence to it. After months of living in the Tower, even the Avengers that came from less than wealthy backgrounds (read: all of them) were used to it and didn’t feel too out of place. “We should let you take us on weekend getaways more often.”

“Never say I don’t give you nice things Katniss.” Clint wouldn’t, mainly because the initial ice between them had been broken over arrow design. Stark was constantly coming up with new ideas and Clint was more than happy to test out the prototypes.

If Tony wanted to say anything else (and he did), he didn’t get the chance, since the team dispersed like a bunch of hyperactive children.

Clint was studying the room’s structure, squinted eyes looking for a way to climb up the beams. Natasha was unpacking her guns, making sure they all made the voyage undamaged (they had). Bruce had taken out a small chemistry set and was making sure the kitchenette’s stove could heat up the beakers (how the hell he managed to pack that without anyone noticing was a mystery). And Thor… Thor was poking at the coffee maker and asking about some sort of baked goods (he was mumbling, so it wasn’t clear).

Steve hadn’t left the door and looked like he was in a renewed daze. Tony sort of wanted to bang his own head against the wall. Repeatedly.

He actually sympathized with Fury when his teammates behaved like kids and completely ignored him for the sake of being annoying. Then he snapped out of it and went back to being a child himself and holding grudges against the director for reasons he himself wasn’t sure existed.

“Steve, need a favor.” He asked, fingers moving at light speed on his tiny touch phone, where he was finalizing dinner reservations.

The words seemed to wake the blond up, but he still looked confused, like he had no idea what Tony could possibly want from him at the time. “Sure, what can I do for you?”

“Whistle.”

“Whistle?”

“Yes. Whistle please. Quite loudly, if you can manage.”

Still frowning in a way that Tony would deny finding endearing, Steve whistled as loud as he could. And since he was a supersoldier, the whistle was loud enough to rattle the windows and chandeliers. (Tony was not even a bit envious, not at all.)

It had the desired effect and stopped everyone on their tracks (and Clint in an amusing upside down headstand). 

“Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I can talk game plan.” The confusion that followed was darling. “You didn’t think I’d bring you across the country, just so you could do exactly the same things you did back in New York, did you?” They did, of course they did. “We are in the adult playground of the world people. We have money, we are superheroes in need of a break and we are behaving like normal people, if I have to drag you lot across the strip myself.” His intentions were pure, but he would be physically incapable of executing his threat, unless he was wearing the Iron Man suit, which would be counterproductive for the whole “normal and resting” thing he was attempting to do. Still, he figured if he looked menacing enough, they would obey.

No one spoke up, so he cheered internally.

“Game plan for the night is freshen up, change into elegant clothing and go out. We’ll have dinner somewhere ridiculous, watch cabaret, gamble, get drunk, whatever rocks your boats. Just generally act like people with more money than brains and not save the world for a night. Tomorrow you can chill by the pool and do whatever you please, but tonight is fun night.”

It was a nice thought, and really the whole idea of the trip. With a few minor inconveniences.

“And how do you suggest we go unnoticed?” Natasha inquired, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “Our pictures are on the news every week, we can hardly pass for John Dos.”

She raised a valid point, one that in his planning enthusiasm Tony had tried to forget. Still, he was quick on his feet and answered optimistically.

“We’re not really that recognizable. Always wears a mask,” he pointed at Steve. “Hides behind the other guy,” grand gesture to Bruce. “Is never actually seen” to Clint, who had managed to perch himself up on the ceiling beams. “Has 40 pounds of armor that make him unrecognizable.” Bit of a stretch, but the helmet did make a huge difference on Thor’s image. “And you my dear, only need to wear your hair up and a deep cleavage and no one will even look you in the eye long enough to recognize you.”

Steve sputtered indignantly. “Tony!” But Natasha waved him off, practical as ever.

“He’s right.” Clearly she was no novice in using her ample bosom to her own advantage. Steve was still looking a little pink around the ears at the mere suggestion.

The forties would have bored the hell out of Tony. He’d probably have to invent time travel to amuse himself. 

“What about you?” Bruce took a step forward, coming out from hiding behind colorful flasks of liquid (seriously, how did he pack that? Tony was going to have a serious conversation with his plane personnel about the things his passengers were allowed to bring on board). “You’re far too recognizable outside the suit.”

“I’ll shave and it’ll be enough.” The others bore plainly disbelieving faces (if they weren’t careful, they’d get stuck like that, forever in a Are-You-Crazy-Tony stance). “Guys, it’s Vegas. Land of cheap impersonators and look-a-likes. For a couple of bucks you can get married by Elvis. At best, people will think I’m a good copycat. Especially since, for all the world knows, we’re still in NY, depressing away.” A few moments to let the words sink in… “Now anything else you want to add, or are you sufficiently convinced?” He made it sound like it was a chore, but he quite enjoyed manipulating people into enjoyment.

Steve took the silence as proof they were all persuaded and took charge. “Since there are four rooms, we’ll do the usual room distribution. Natasha you get the pink one, Thor you’re on blue, Clint and Bruce you get green, Tony and I will have white.” Natasha grumbled something about misogyny, but sauntered over to her designated room regardless, while Clint mercilessly teased Bruce about the color of theirs. In an early away mission, when they had needed to crash and there were less rooms than people, Steve had wanted Natasha and Clint to share a room and Bruce to have a single. He claimed security reasons, but honestly, it was more because he thought it would be the preferred solution for everyone involved. The Shield agents had forcefully declined, taking him by surprise. Natasha thrived on solitude and Clint didn’t want Bruce to be left alone to his designs. “This way someone will look after him Cap.” He had argued. “It’s safer this way.” Steve had waited for Bruce to complain about the arrangements, but he merely shrugged, blushing a bit if possible, and inched closer to the archer’s figure in assent. Ever since then the arrangements were never again questioned. And if Steve sometimes made sure they had fewer rooms available to carry out the distribution (and maybe sleep in the same bed as Tony), then no one had to know about it.

With a small smile, he looked at his friends and stated. “Assemble in one hour. Go!”

 

*****

“This is not what you advertized Stark.”

Instead of riding the limo to the strip immediately after they were ready, for the promised fancy dinner and Circ du Soleil, Tony lead his team mates to the rooftop of the Bellagio’s main building. Luckily, Vegas was crazy enough (or maybe Tony tipped well enough) that no one thought to stop the group of six, even when they went past the clearly marked _Employees Only_ door. The view from the top of the 36-floor hotel was stunning; you could see the entire strip lit up in the darkness of the night. New York was far more beautiful, but Las Vegas had its charm.

Also, for superheroes who spent most of them time killing things? They cleaned up quite nicely. Suits had been provided by the only Avenger who frequently made it to best-dressed lists of various gossip magazines, as well as the breathtaking, black dress, red pumps ensemble Natasha was wearing (Armani and a bit on the too-revealing side; it’d be useful as a distraction when they were playing poker later on). Getting a tux large enough to fit the God of thunder had been an entertaining challenge.

“Complaining sweet cheeks?” Tony didn’t even flinch when the redhead glared at the nickname. Out of all the Avengers, she was the one who had fewer pet names, mainly because she was the scariest one of the bunch. He was getting used to her angry stares though, so she might be honey bun in a few days.

“Well, she is the one wearing 5 inch heels, realistically, she’s the one that can…” Bruce dwindled off when Natasha’s evil eye was turned to him. It was her patented _are-you-trying-to-discredit-me-because-of-my-gender?-because-screw-the-green-one-I-will-cut-you._ Very specific and equally scary. Bruce coughed instead of talking and Clint’s hand somehow ended up on his. Tony tilted his head, eyes locking on calloused fingers gently touching badly burned ones (experiment gone wrong). When did that happen?

Making a mental note to ask Steve about it later, Tony shrugged. “I figured we should do a toast before we leave for a night of painting the town. Loosen up a bit, start things off with the right foot.” It was a good thing that Thor was so distracted with the alcohol, otherwise he would have questioned the idiom (and most of Thor’s questions were similar to those of a five year old; there was a limited number of times Tony could hear the word _why_ before snapping). “With Asgardian wine.”

The purpose of using alcohol from another realm instead of plain earth champagne was not lost on anyone. Bruce shook a bit on his boots (well, metaphorical boots, he was currently wearing a very nice pair of polished dress shoes he would never have picked out on his own) and Steve did that confused frowny thing of his that left Tony wanting to pinch his cheeks.

_Good Lord Stark, get a hold of yourself. You’re a man, not a teenage girl with a crush._

“That means we’ll all be affected by the alcohol?” Both serums (the successful and the disastrous one) changed the way the effect alcohol had on Steve and Bruce (meaning it was mostly reduced to none). But booze from another realm, as one spiked punch in a party informed them, affected them just as much as normal humans. Which was exactly what Tony wanted.

“Tony, I’m not sure this is a great idea.” Of course Bruce wouldn’t. Not when he was used to being in control, not when he excelled at containing his emotions. Not when Shield had just started trusting him enough not to have a cage wherever they went and he was finally given freedom to be.

“Bruce, come on.” Tony was not letting this stop him. He hadn’t let any of the other objections stop him, he wasn’t starting now, not when he was so close to the finish line. “You have control. You know this, I know this, Hawkass knows this, so he can stop glaring as well.” He hinted in Clint’s direction and really, was it a spy/assassin thing? The glare? He’d have to ask Pepper (wait, was Pepper a spy? Not a good line of thinking). “And if you for some unforeseeable reason lose it for a second, Merida will help you regain it. Besides, I’m barely giving you a thimble of pretty mellow wine. I think we can rest assured nothing bad will come out of it.” Tony’s words had a tendency to return and bite him in the ass. And then give him rabies. Or bullets, whatever was more appropriate. “Right Thor?”

Thor smiled like he had made the beverage himself. He was always quite proud when he could share things from his heritage and traditions with his _trusted battle companions_. “Right you are friend Anthony. The mead is tame, you can drink it at will Doctor.” Apparently Thor’s word was more believable than Tony’s, because his teammates accepted the champagne glasses the demi-god was handing out.

Once everyone had a glass and was in a semi-circle, Tony elbowed the good captain to say a few words. Steve, looking far less shell-shocked and like someone who could have a good time without passing out or making judgments, smiled brightly.

“To us, for saving the world and taking names. And for the weekend off we deserve.” They clinked their glasses together and took sips of the rather tasty drink.

And because Tony can’t help but tease fate, he added, with a cocky grin and a twinkle in his eye. “To a night we’ll never forget.”

Those, as another saying Thor might miss goes, were the famous last words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, someone gets married, someone gets a body modification, someone goes to the hospital, someone becomes a youtube sensation and Bruce gets terribly lost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Still inspired by the amazing gifset http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover  
> 2\. I know same sex marriage isn’t permitted in Nevada, but I’m ignoring it. It’s allowed in my conservative, highly catholic country, so I don’t get how places that are supposedly more liberal are so fiercely against it.  
> Hope you like it!

**The Next Morning**

**Las Vegas**

Tony didn’t like sleep. It was a fact of life generally accepted by everyone who knew him. His brain had a hard time slowing down and his body wasn’t terribly skilled at recognizing physical needs, so he ended up over indulging and spending nights away in his lab, tinkering with one project or the other. Most of the times, he only fell asleep when his insomnia gave him a break and his body fell over with exhaustion. Or when he was so drunk he no longer had a choice. And even when he did fall asleep, it was mostly short-lived and antsy, dreams that weren’t quite nightmares plaguing his rest. Luckily he had coffee and energy drinks to help him survive, but it didn’t mean he ever woke up feeling anything other more pleasant than aggravation.

That Saturday morning, he drifted awake feeling content. He couldn’t exactly pin point the origin, he just felt warm and fuzzy, the bed beneath his back just the right amount of soft, the sheets around him protective but not overbearing, the dim light escaping the heavy curtains not strong enough to annoy. His eyes fluttered open lazily and he couldn’t help but smile. Steve was lying on the bed next to him, dead to the world, but still lovely. The sunrays made his skin look tanner and his hair blonder. Tony was just giving into the urge to reach out and touch his perfect face when something caught his eye.

A ring. A heavy, gold, wedding ring. A heavy, gold, wedding ring that was currently settled on his ring finger.

It was apparently all Tony needed to shock his sleep-muddled mind into genius-type wakefulness. He sat up with a leap and then it all hit him at once; the searing pain on his head, the dead-animal-like taste on his tongue, the nausea that threatened to make him hurl.

And Steve. In his bed. Well, in _a_ bed next to him. Wearing a similar styled ring on the hand visible from his angle.

_Tony Stark, what the hell have you done?_

The sudden movement was enough to drag Steve from whatever pleasant dream he might have been having and he opened his eyes slowly, stretching beneath the covers. He had a moment of sleepy-happiness similar to Tony’s, before his brain caught up with the situation and he visibly froze. “Tony? What, what are you doing in my bed?” A lesser man might have cursed, but that wasn’t the person Steve was and Tony had a brief moment of serenity (Steve was _good_ , Steve wouldn’t kick his ass, at least not for this).

A drier than dust chuckle was dragged from his throat, causing an absurd amount of pain when taking in account the (relative) small quantity of muscles required for the action. “Not your bed Cap. Not my bed either. One of Caesers Palace’s main suits is my best guess.” The honeymoon suite was his best guess, but he didn’t want to jinx it. Or freak Steve out before he was fully awake. And the fact that he recognized a hotel by the bedroom decoration was nothing short of amazing (his previous life style had had its fun moments).

Brief confusion clouded blue eyes, before he remembered. “Vegas weekend?”

“Vegas weekend.” Tony confirmed with a careful nod, trying hard to shake his memory intact, while keeping his body as still as possible.

“Caesers Pa… That’s not our hotel, is it?”

“Indeed it is not.”

“Any idea how we got here?”

“That would be another no for you.”

With badly repressed panic, Tony was starting to realize that, try as he might, he couldn’t remember a thing about the night before or how they had ended up in their current predicament. And for someone with a near photographic memory, that was a clear warning bell. Not even in his worst binges did he completely erase what? Sixteen hours of his life give or take. He didn’t like not knowing and he didn’t like not remembering.

Especially when what he forgot could completely change the course of his life.

Steve was pushing himself up to a sitting position and Tony confirmed, with a mix of relief and regret, that he was wearing a pair of white cotton boxers. “Do you remember anything after the rooftop toast? I know we were supposed to head out for dinner, but I can’t seem to remember anything.” He seemed frustrated by the fact, but not overly alarmed. He probably hadn’t fully realized what not remembering meant. He’d get there in a few minutes.

Tony dug his fingers into his temples, trying to ease the headache to no avail. “Not a single thing. But apparently we got married, so the night can’t have been that bad.” He would have flinched if he didn’t think that would exacerbate his various aches. It wasn’t his most tactful moment, and he regretted it the second Steve’s eyes widened and his golden skin turned pale.

“We, we got… But how?” He looked so horrified that a part of Tony (the same one that wanted to kiss the wholesome captain in his perfect lips) churned painfully.

Ignoring his body’s reaction, Tony got up and searched for the rest of his clothes (he was currently only wearing an undershirt and boxers, and while the others had seen him in far less, he was feeling uncomfortable in his own skin and wanted the protection of added layers). “It’s 2012 in America Capsicle, equality is sort of our thing.” Well… kinda. Sometimes. When it didn’t offend anyone else and it looked good on the portrait.

Tony only found his shoes, shirt and pants, but since it was enough to be presentable, he threw them roughly. Steve was more subdued in his movements, but did the same. “Tony I didn’t… I’m not…”

This was not a conversation Tony wanted to have hung over and amnesic (or ever), so he held a hand up to shut Steve up. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , hear Steve’s arguments and dismissals. He was a big boy, but not enough to see the one thing he couldn’t have denied. He couldn’t have Steve, fine. But he sure as hell didn’t want to hear the man actually utter the words. There wasn’t a lot that could break Tony, but that might be one of those things.

“I’ll have the lawyers work out divorce papers the minute we land on New York soil, but for now, can we just find the others and figure out what the hell happened?” He tried to go for chirpy, but ended up mostly tired and bitter. Steve opened his mouth a couple of times without making a single sound, nodding mutely instead.

_Crises averted. Or delayed, whatever._

They walked out of the bedroom (pointedly ignoring the rose petals on the ground or the open bottle of champagne) and into the adjacent living room. The scene they encountered was… peculiar.

Natasha was sprawled inelegantly on the room’s only couch, dress wrinkled and shoes nowhere to be seen, her ever perfect make up smudged and her red curls fanned out around her face. Steve slapped Tony’s hand when it reached for his phone to snap a picture, so he didn’t have blackmail material, but it was still a pretty amusing sight. Clint was on the floor, drooling on the carpet, a paper gown underneath his coat, where a purple shirt should have been, and… gauze on his hand? Said hand was partially hidden under a couch pillow so it wasn’t clear, but that’s what it seemed like to Tony. And Thor was lying on top of a horizontal mahogany chest of drawers, wrapped in a red cape, his normally blond hair painted black, an S drawn on his naked chest.

What the hell?...

Before Steve could think of a sensible way to wake his friends up, Tony turned his jackass mode on and yelled at the top of his lungs. “WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAKEY! Time to rise up sunshines!”, while drawing up the curtains at the same time. Steve’s response was to bury his head in his hands with a sigh and a calming mantra. It wasn’t difficult to see why Tony was less than beloved by the world, sometimes only tolerated by those around him. It’s not that he was a horrible person that basked in other people’s misery; it’s more than he… Had no manners. Or healthy ways to deal with his conflicting emotions. Which meant he took them out on others far too often.

Any other day, the two trained assassins and the demi-god would have gotten up immediately and let Tony feel the power of their wrath. That day they merely groaned miserably, flopping around like dying fish, as their hung over bodies returned to consciousness.

It did take a while, but when they were back to their normal conditions, all hell broke loose.

“What do you mean this is my fault?!” Tony yelled back at Natasha when she started the heated accusations of foolish weekend ideas. “If there’s someone at fault it’s Point Break here, who clearly gave us food poisoning with his defective mead.”

Not a great idea to annoy a Norse God, even if he didn’t look hung over like the rest of the puny humans. “The mead was not defective Man of Iron! I picked it up myself from my Realm, it cannot possibly be at fault here.”

“Well, as far as I can see, last thing anyone remembers is drinking it, so forgive me for assuming.”

It went on for a few minutes, the three of them yelling at each other and Steve trying to calm them down and talk rationally, without much success. Clint remained on the floor, examining his hand with hazy curiosity. After a little while, his head snapped up urgently.

“Guys… GUYS!” Four heads turned to his direction with various degrees of anger. “Where’s Bruce?”

The room went so silent you could hear a metaphorical pin drop. Bruce hadn’t been in the room and he clearly wasn’t in the living room…

A cough was heard from the direction of the bathroom. Without a word, Steve took the lead and the others followed him to the adjacent bathroom. Only instead of Bruce…

They found Loki. In the bathtub.

“You know, you lot are very inconsiderate. Some people are trying to sleep here, but are unable to do so because of your shouting. How people even call you heroes is beyond me.”

The events that followed were so quick, no one was able to stop them (not that anyone would have, not really). In a fluid move, Clint had the God of Mischief out of the large tub and up against the blue tiled wall, crushing Loki’s throat with his uninjured hand. “What did you do?”

Loki gurgled but didn’t (couldn’t?) escape the archer’s hold. “My dearest Agent Barton, I assure you I have no idea what you mean by that callous accusation.” Clint tightened his hand and Loki made a few distressed sounds.

“You tell me right now what you did to him, or I don’t care who you are, I will murder you in front of your brother.” Loki didn’t answer so Clint banged his head on the wall a few times, until the green eyes didn’t open again.

Natasha was the first to approach him with tiny steps. “Clint...”

“No! You know fully well that he has… a grudge, a fascination, call it whatever you want, with Bruce, there is no way he is not involved in his disappearance.” Disappearance because there was no way Bruce would leave without saying a word. No way he’d let Clint fret and worry like this.

“No one’s denying Loki’s involvement in the occurrence.” Steve went for magnanimous, his hand firm on Clint’s shoulder. “But if you kill him we’ll never find out where Bruce is.”

Clint seemed to ponder his options before releasing Loki from his grasp, the demi-god falling to the ground in a graceless heap.

“Thor, how the hell did he get out of Asgard?” Steve questioned Thor, while his brother gasped for breath on the floor. It had been one of the conditions of Loki’s “release”, that he be taken back to his Realm and stay there, no questions asked regarding the how. Thor looked torn, one side clearly wanting to pat Loki’s back and ask him if he would like some water, the other wanting to slap the hell out of him for being a nuisance once again.

“Father took away most of his powers, but he must have found a way to get around their loss.” Loki was crafty like that, what with being the God of mischief and everything.

“How much is most of his powers?” Natasha looked away from Clint’s murderous form to squint at the coughing Loki.

“About 70/75% of them.” Thor answered instead of his, still unable to talk, brother. “He shouldn’t have enough to bypass Heimdall.” Shouldn’t but apparently did. Underestimating people, especially villainous ones, was a dangerous thing.

Deciding he had had enough rest, Tony kicked Loki’s chins with the tip of his dress shoes. “So almost human, what did you do to us? Drug the wine and watch us flounder?”

“Drug is such a harsh word…” Loki’s smug smile was cut short by Clint pointing Natasha’s ankle holstered gun to the middle of his forehead. “Fine, fine. I did a bit of hocus-pocus here and there and essentially altered the wine’s formula enough so that it acted like a hallucinogenic. You have a bit of a temper, did you know Agent Barton? I don’t know how SHIELD lets you around like this.” If he was going to make a remark about Coulson, he was smart enough to swallow it down. The whole near death thing was still fresh on everyone’s mind and if he were to mention it, there’s no way to predict the outcome. Steve might try to kill Thor’s little brother himself.

“So you roofied us?” Tony chuckled humorlessly, because really, how was this his life? Save the world, get drugged by a God, loose your memory and your best friend. All in a day’s work. “To what purpose exactly?” Because as far as he could tell, the world wasn’t ending and Loki hadn’t tried to make people bow at his feat (he had been asleep in their tub instead).

Loki’s resulting smile almost earned him another strangle, but Natasha held Clint back. “To amuse myself? Life as a semi-human is rather dull. I figured crashing your party might be fun.” It took Natasha _and_ Thor to hold the archer back this time.

It seemed like they were all looking for fun that weekend. Just in very different ways.

“Okay, just tell us what ridiculous things we did while drugged and where Bruce is and we’ll go easy on you.” Easy was dropping him at Fury’s feet. Hard was letting Clint and Coulson (who could hold a mean grudge and had a wicked right hook) have him in a room with no cameras or witnesses.

Loki seemed embarrassed and it worried everyone in the room. “About that… I met up with you at the rooftop after your little toast and… I may have drunk a bit of the mead.”

Tony wanted to laugh, but he was sure Clint would have decked him as well. “You drugged yourself? Oh this just keeps getting better and better.”

“I miscalculated the effect the magic would have on myself.” He huffed, straightening himself. He looked distinctively out of place in half of a tux. Like Thor, he was wrapped in a cape, only his was black with a matching B written on his chest. “So while I was most likely with you the entire night, I’m sorry to say I remember nothing after taking a sip of the wine.”

No one was surprised when Clint punched him in the nose.

*

“We need to retrace out steps.”

After a moment of confusion, where Clint broke Loki’s nose and the yelling echoed on the bathroom tiles, they gathered in the living room, spread on every available surface. Loki’s nose had been reset (by the _gentle_ hands of Natasha) and his hands were trapped in handcuffs that Tony just happened to have in his pants pocket ( _“You act like you’re surprised. Have we met before? Do you not remember the playboy part of the manifesto?”_ ).

They concluded that Bruce was indeed missing and considering that the news mentioned nothing about a Hulk on the loose, it was safe to assume he was on Bruce form and the other guy hadn’t showed up to play. With no immediate danger, it meant that they had to find him before SHIELD was made aware of the fact (they didn’t trust him enough to allow him to be left completely alone unguarded). Not telling SHIELD meant not being able to use technology (too easily traceable by the dozens of geeky techs they had on the control room) or JARVIS (who had informed Tony he had been hacked a few hours after they had left New York; he’d have to reinforce the AI’s firewalls when they returned) or even their personas (because yeah, more obvious than they were aiming for). So they had to find Bruce and they had to do it old school.

Under different circumstances, it might have been fun.

They had put together all they could figure out about what had happened the night before. Tony and Steve had obviously gotten married, but without a marriage certificate and with more than fifty chapels on the strip area, they had no way of knowing where they had been without going to each one of them and since time was of the essence, that was temporarily out of the way. Natasha claimed there was nothing different about her and the marks on Loki and Thor’s chests weren’t the most enlightening of clues. That left out Clint, who had apparently been at Sunrise Hospital close to six a.m., according to the medical bracelet still attached to his wrist (and the obvious gauze wrapped around three of his fingers). It was likely the last place they went to, so the logical (and only place they were able) to start.

Tony was brooding beneath his sunglasses (in his other pocket, where he always kept them out of habit; too many headaches in his heavy drinking days), and Steve was steadily ignoring him, too busy taking charge of the **Operation: Find Bruce** to care. The captain faced the room with what he hoped was a confident smile. “Alright Avengers…” He stopped short of saying _Assemble_ , because the looks on their faces were less excited and more homicidal. Instead, he sighed and gestured for the door. “Let’s just find a ride and go.”

Why Tony decided that the oldest Wolkswagen van in the state of Nevada was the best possible ride, was a mystery no one will ever decipher.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Inspiration remains the gif set http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover (I’ll give credit until the bitter end, can’t help it.)  
> Enjoy!

**Las Vegas**

“Steven, I have no idea what you’re talking about. The van is a perfectly acceptable form of transportation.”

“It’s falling to pieces Tony!”

“It’s inconspicuous!”

“It’s a health hazard!” 

Despite the general consensus that the beaten down old van was clearly not the best choice of vehicle and that it was very likely to die in the middle of the road, the Avengers (and their archenemy) piled on the seats of the auto industry museum-worthy car. Without conferring with the rest, Tony sat behind the steering wheel and tried to drive the van like it was one of his fast cars (it didn’t work), Steve perched in the shotgun seat, chastising his choices. Really, they were just bickering as usual, acting like an old married couple. Which they now were. Married, not old (well, Steve was a bit old). Still weird. 

“Does this mean the pool is over?” Clint asked Natasha, who had taken the seat next to him in the middle, leaving Thor and Loki alone on the backseat to play their staring match alone (their childhood must have been a hoot and a half; poor Odin didn’t get enough credit). He was trying to flex his bandaged fingers, focusing on the physical pain, and not the worry and hurt that was gnawing at his chest like a disease. Natasha was pretty distracted by the early afternoon Strip, her eyes glazed over uncharacteristically. They only had a few minutes to freshen up, not enough to change clothes, so she was still in her evening gown and pumps, but her face was wiped clean and her hair was up on a messy ponytail. She still looked as beautiful as ever and Clint felt a pang in his chest that he could never truly love her. Not like _that_ , at least. 

“Not sure.” She frowned. “The bet was regarding romantic involvement, not actual marriage.” The feelings Steve and Tony had for each other were clear to everyone but themselves, so it was inevitable that their relationship would end up on the superheroes’ gambling central (who needed Vegas casinos when you had gossip?). The current bet wasn’t so much related to the _if_ , but the _when_ (because it would happen, if the rest of the team had to resort to childish methods such as locking them in a closet to ensure it). “I can’t tell if they got their act together or got married by accident. We’ll have to pry information out of them before making any statements. Who wins if they did get together?” Natasha had money at stake, but she wasn’t following the statistics closely.

Clint, who apparently didn’t have anything better to do, was. “Spiderbug, maybe? I’m not sure, we’ll have to ask Pepper.” Because who better to be the betting commissioner than the woman who followed Tony’s every step? The weirdness that should have come from her former relationship with her boss was ignored by all parts involved.

“Spidey is in on it? Who on earth told him?” It’s not like the kid was easily trackable, he more or less came and went as he damn well pleased. He invariably came through and helped out as well as he could, but was always gone before debriefing. Fury had him on his shit list, the director desperately wanted to yank the mask off the kid and demand explanations (and probably bully him into joining the initiative). The more he distressed Fury, the more Tony liked the Spiderkid. Said he had spunk (but fooled nobody; he liked the kid because of the sarcasm, the cockiness and the intelligence, it’s not like Tony couldn’t see himself behind the webbed red mask). They had to get him to backtrack whenever he talked about the kid living at the Tower, because it’s not like the Spider could be informally adopted and maintain the secrecy he so treasured.

Still, the kid somehow became their unofficial mascot, helping them out when they were in a bind, showing up at the tower for late night snacks (always keeping his mask on, which pissed even them off to a certain extent). He was a nice, clever kid, who was decent company to have around. 

“Deadpool might have. I think.” Clint looked sheepish at his hands; because of course he had been the one to tell Wade. They lived in a small, small community and what had begun as a friendly bet amongst teammates, had quickly escalated into a thousand dollar gamble.

It would be best for all involved parties if the men in question never found out about it.

“I won’t be too upset if Spiderman wins. God knows the kid can probably use the money.”

“Hey, I could use the money!” He bumped her shoulder with his and she gave him a rare chuckle.

“You’ve been taken in by a billionaire. No, you don’t.” She let their arms remain glued together and the even rarer contact was strangely comforting. Clint didn’t have too many friends, couldn’t have with the life he had chosen to lead, but he was very fond of the few he had. Natasha especially, was very dear to his heart. They weren’t the touchy-feely kind of friends (more along the lines of I’ll-cover-your-back-you-cover-mine), but he knew he could always count on her for anything. He knew she wouldn’t lie to him.

With that in mind, he lowered his voice to a whisper (not that he needed, the married couple were still arguing as they pulled the car to the hospital parking lot, and the brothers were poking each other fiercely). “Tasha?”

“Yes Clint?”

“Do you think Bruce is okay?”

His voice was soft, cracking at the man’s name and Natasha visibly recoiled. She was a no bullshit kind of person, probably already had a list of possible no win scenarios that included everything from SHIELD locking Bruce away for all eternity to them getting killed by an out of control Hulk. But, even though she would deny it to her grave, she cared about Clint and his happiness, and couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would undoubtedly crush him. Instead, she was a good friend and hid her lie beneath a caring bump of her shoulder.

“I’m sure he’s fine. There was nothing on the news to indicate that the green one got away, so I’m sure he’s just hung over and lost somewhere. All we have to do is find him and take him home.” Because screw Vegas, she just wanted to return to New York City and never leave again.

Clint seemed to take consolation in her words; she was, after all, the one person he trusted above all (well, maybe not above a mad scientist that made him worry, but the sentiment stands). He nodded with a deep breath. 

“Thanks Tasha.”

“Are you done being mushy over there?” Tony asked without a bare minimum of tact. He looked as if his aggravation was growing by the second and his hands were shaking with anxiety. He looked like a tired father at the end of a road trip, a visual only reinforced by Steve’s crossed arms and furrowed brows. “Because we’re here.”

Turns out that when you’re not a billionaire, but instead a nobody without a recognizable last name (or at least, pretending to be one), people were less than accommodating to your quirks and needs. It took them half an hour until a nurse even deigned to look at them, another fifteen minutes before she agreed to look at Clint’s bracelet and call the doctor who had treated him. With only the sounds and smells of the hospital to entertain him, Tony was driving himself (and everyone else) slowly mad.

“I don’t know how normal people do this, I honestly don’t.” He was pacing up and down the hallway they had occupied, sitting on orange plastic chairs and trying not to let Tony’s pacing give them motion sickness. “What if there had been something seriously wrong with one of us? We would have died by now! Died!” Because no one even looks at you unless you have a sounding name and a high ceiling on your health insurance. “What about people with no insurance? How the hell do they even survive?”

Oh, the poor thing. Steve may be behind on his pop culture and Thor may be completely oblivious, but Tony was painfully sheltered. The closest he ever came to being in contact with the health care problems were at fancy fundraisings, where he wrote checks and didn’t worry about it again.

Maybe there was a silver lining to the whole debacle. At least Tony was getting a healthy dose of reality. 

"Mr. Jason Hunt?" A pretty lady doctor, dark haired with heavy glasses partially hiding her green eyes, approached their bench and looked straight at Clint. The alias wasn’t one they had heard before, but it had clearly been chosen by the archer. Tony coughed in his attempt to hide the laughter and even Steve looked at Clint knowingly. He ignored them both and rose to meet the doctor.

"That would be me. I think." Clint looked at his fingers and said more assuredly. "Yes, that's me."

The doctor scrunched her nose, but maintained her professional, slightly affected smile. "I didn't expect to see you back again so soon Mr. Hunt, I thought I told you to lay low for a few days."

Clint blanched when he realized he was going to have to confess his lack of memory. His companions were all smiling brightly, mouths zipped closed and waiting for him to find a way out of the mess. He made a mental note to give them hell once everything went back to relative normality.

"Well, the thing is... I don’t exactly remember last night." He could be smooth with the ladies, when he wasn’t hung-over, in physical pain and worried out of his mind. "I was hoping you could fill in the blanks."

Despite Clint’s uneasiness and his friends’ lack of cooperation, the doctor didn’t seem all that surprised or dismayed (being an ER doctor on the hospital closest to the Strip must have desensitized her to everything drunk and weird). “I’m not surprised. You and your friends were clearly on something, though what I have no idea what that was, it wasn’t traceable in your blood work.” She gave him a pointed look above her dark framed glasses. He suppressed the urge to hit Loki again, but Natasha had no qualms and slapped the God on the backside of the head. The doctor blinked twice and continued without a remark. “You came in with a severed finger. The indicator of the left hand to be precise. It was a clean cut, by the metacarpophalangeal joint and since you brought the finger in ice we were able to reattach it with no trouble. I wanted to keep you for overnight observation, but your friends insisted that they would take care of you.” Her tone and their state of scruffiness told him she didn’t believe it for one second.

If possible, Clint paled further (maybe he could invoke the loss of blood as an excuse). “My finger was cut off? Completely?”

“Completely.”

He opened his mouth to talk, but instead fell back on the plastic chair speechless, looking at his finger like he was imagining a world where it would be gone (and by the green tinge of his skin, not enjoying it one bit). Thor patted his shoulder clumsily and Steve got up to talk to the doctor himself (the joke was over and Clint was far too shaken to say anything else).

“Is he going to make a full recovery?” Clint would probably be able to make do without one of his fingers, but it would be best if he didn’t have to try (and if they didn’t have to explain the absence to SHIELD). “He works with his hands.” Killed and maimed with his hands would be more accurate, but he wasn’t sure the doctor could handle the information, even when as used to eccentricity as she was.

The doctor closed the chart and nodded, the fake smile still in place, but a bit of impatience apparent in her tapping foot (maybe they were annoying her, or maybe Tony’s agitation was contagious). “He’ll be fine. As long as he takes the antibiotics and the pain killers and avoids strenuous activities, he should make a full recovery.”

Those pills meant prescriptions didn’t they? The likelihood that any of them paid attention to a piece of paper in their drugged haze was close to nil. The doctor must have noticed, because she sighed. “I’ll just get my pad and write you a new prescription, alright?” She left the same way she came from, her sensible heels click-clacking on the pavement.

They were left in the relative silence of the hallway, the hospital noises (coughing people and beeping machines) as their background soundtrack. Not knowing what to do, Natasha slapped Loki again, simply because she could, and the demi-god squinted irritably. It’s not like they were one hundred percent sure he had been the one to cut the finger or even how he had done it. The decision to blame him for everything and call it the day was unanimous and undisputed.

Luckily the doctor was quick to return and Loki didn’t have the time to come up with a suitable acidic response. She handed Steve, the one she (rightfully) deemed to be the responsible adult, two sheets of written and stamped paper. “Fill these out at the hospital pharmacy and they’ll give you the instructions. Now is there anything else I can help you with, or are you going to leave this hospital so I never have to see you again?” She seemed hopeful on the fulfillment of the second one.

“Actually doc…” Tony bit on the word, because they sort of called Bruce that on occasion. Or all the time. “We were wondering if there was another man with us last night? 5 feet 9, curly hair, unshaved and disheveled?”

The doctor shook her head and the tine flair of hope in Clint’s chest was doused with a fireman hose. “No, it was just the six of you. A bit louder and gigglier, but still only you.”

“And did we happen to mention where we were before?”

“Also no, sorry. You came in just before 6 a.m., my shift had just started. You demanded that _Hawkass’_ finger be reattached and fled pretty quickly after it was.” How they managed not to out their identities throughout the night was nothing short of miraculous. The doctor seemed to sense that they had nothing else to ask, so she closed the file and prepared to make her exit. “Now, take care and don’t play with cigar cutters while inebriated.” _And don’t return to my ER_ was heavily implied. 

Steve rallied them up and followed the arrows on the floor to the pharmacy. As they walked, Natasha and Clint encircled Loki and took turns in hitting him.

“Can you… Do you mind stopping that?” It’s not like they were hurting him significantly, but the actions were entirely bothersome.

“You decapitated my finger with a cigar cutter!”

“There is no proof of… Thor, a little help?”

Thor was striding behind (because the man also didn’t know how to just _walk_ ), closing the group of misfits. He smiled at Loki, like his brother was just being silly, like he wasn’t handcuffed, being poked half to (a bored) death by two master assassins and on his way to a SHIELD prison. “You got yourself into this one, I have faith you shall survive brother.” If they hadn’t killed him by now, they weren’t likely to do so any time soon. At least not until they found Banner.

(No one, not even Natasha deep down, considered the hypothesis that they wouldn’t find him. If nothing else because neither Clint not Tony would rest until they did, if it meant their own deaths.)

“Oh my God it’s Batman! And Superman!”

Tony had just started to complain to Steve about how they were clueless and back to square one, when the pharmacy girl shrieked upon seeing them. For a second, Tony feared they were compromised but then the girl screamed and… He was admittedly confused. 

She was clueless to their confusion and continued to giggle and call for her colleagues. Completely forgetting any sort of professionalism, the group of women went around the counter to fawn at the bewildered looking Thor and the bemused Loki, with sinuous movements and sugary words.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Steve was not used to being ignored, whether he was in or out of costume. Tony would have enjoyed seeing him flounder if he wasn’t feeling equally left out. Steve turned to an amused looking male nurse, who was watching the spectacle from the other side of the counter. “Excuse me, do you know why they’re being this… enthusiastic?” It’s not that the brothers weren’t disgustingly handsome, because they were, but the other members of the team weren’t exactly chopped liver and they weren’t being hailed like GQ’s sexiest men of the year.

The nurse rolled his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest. “They’ve been drooling over the video all morning, it’s no wonder they’re acting like hormonal adolescents. I imagine it’s a bit like meeting a hot celebrity.”

Warning bells rang clear inside Tony and Steve’s heads (the only ones talking to the nurse, Natasha and Clint were busy trying to make sure Loki didn’t get away in the confusion). “I’m sorry, what video might you be talking about?” That was exactly why Tony didn’t like technological blackouts. The world was forever changing and he needed to know what was happening, damn it!

“You don’t know about the video?” Of course they didn’t captain oblivious. The nurse was already pressing the keys of the computer in front of him. He turned the monitor to the married couple and pressed play. “Those two are overnight youtube sensations.”

And indeed, there they were, Thor with a half assed Superman costume, almost the same thing he currently had on, minus the cape they had insisted on leaving at their _vehicle_ , Loki in what they assumed was Batman one, by the crooked mask covering his face and the excessive amount of black. They were on a shoddily lit stage, badly dancing to a pop music… And stripping. They were definitely stripping. They were grinding against poles (and each other, ew), shedding articles of clothing until… Wow! That was more of an archenemy than Tony ever wanted to see. Steve had turned his back to the computer and was taking calming breaths and steadily blushing, even after the naked pictures were long gone.

“It’s not Ang Lee, but it’s enough to make the ladies happy. And some men.” The nurse turned the computer back to him and asked, ignoring the cacophony still taking place in the corridor. Autographs were now being asked and Natasha was having a hard time convincing Thor not to write his real name on random breasts. “So, was there a reason you came here, or was it just to bask in the female attention?”

With a grin strong enough to power the sun, Tony extracted the prescription from Steve’s clenched hand and slid it over the counter. “We need this filled out, as well as the largest bottle of Tylenol you’re allowed to sell and the address to that place.” He then turned to the others, opened his arms and shouted happily, momentarily forgetting his migraine. “Guys, we’re going to a strip club.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Has anyone reading this not seen the gifset yet? If you haven’t http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover  
> Happy reading and I hope you enjoy it!

**Las Vegas**

To say that Tony liked strip clubs would be an oversta… well, no, it wouldn’t, it would be pretty accurate. It was all a part of the persona he cultivated over the years, the brash playboy who liked fast cars, pretty women and expensive alcohol (and sophisticated gadgets, but that was overlooked unless he was releasing lethal weapons). Strip clubs mixed two of his favorite things; he couldn’t help but love them.

But he was used to a certain kind of establishment. High class and exclusive, the type of place you didn’t know about unless you filled certain criteria, unless you were someone, unless you had something to loose (anonymity and privacy were the main motto of these sorts of places). He was used to luxury.

The club they ended up at was anything but luxurious.

“I can’t believe you lost your panties in this place Thor.” Natasha had twisted her nose the second they stepped on the gritty club and it didn’t look like it was going to change anytime soon. “We’ll need to get you checked out when we get back, you might have caught something.” She was exaggerating a little. And then again, not at all.

The Skimpy Leopard, as it turned out the club was called, was a dingy institution outside of the main strip and the confusion of Vegas. Apparently the further you were from the main road, the shabbier the restaurants and clubs became.

They drove for a long time (and got lost twice) until they found the place.

It was a standard Z-movie club, half bar, half stripping joint, badly lit with half broken, age old chandeliers, red curtains made from a velvet that looked like it had survived a couple of wars, floor was sticky enough that their had to make a conscious effort to unglue their shoes with every step. Despite the relatively early hour (just after 3 p.m.), there were already a few patrons sitting in the tables closest to the stage, leering at the half naked women grinding against the poles.

It wasn’t the most auspicious place on Earth.

Tony didn’t let the fact that the club probably broke a foot long list of sanitary regulations deter him, and sat down on a barstool. “Bartender, gives us a bucket of chicken wings and a round of beers. Also, whoever was in charge of this place last night and was responsible for getting these two on stage.” He pointed at the horrified looking brothers (well, Thor looked horrified, Loki was sort of leering at one of the scantily dressed waitresses). Even if it wasn’t his usual thing, he was all for making the best out of the situations he was given. The overused annoyed looks he got in response were starting to loose their effectiveness. “What now?”

Steve merely looked and the ceiling and curbed the instinct to sigh (he did that a lot when he was around his hus- _Tony_ ). “Cancel the beers and the wings.” He ordered the already on the move bartender.

“I get the beers, though I don’t agree with it. Why cut my wings?”

“You are not eating anything cooked in a five mile radius of this place. The last thing we need is for you to get food poisoning in the middle off our investigation.”

“But I’m hungry…” He was hungry and hunger made him whiny. He had no recollection of having dinner the previous night, but since his stomach resembled a black hole he doubted he had eaten anything very substantial. Steve should have been happy about it, he was always dragging Tony out of the workshop and forcing food down his throat. Instead of patting his back and saying _good going_ , Steve looked at Tony exasperated.

“Tony… No.”

The bartender had been following the exchange amused (it seemed to be people’s default reaction to their antics). “Should I just call Honey then? The manager isn’t in, but she was the one in charge last night. Also the one who convinced them to bare it all.” Thor wasn’t a shy person, or body conscious, but he looked a little faint at the words. Maybe he had just remembered Dr. Foster and the likelihood of her seeing the video. That was going to be fun (Tony could imagine Clint and Darcy’s joint lewd comments already).

Steve nodded at the barkeep and Clint snorted, looking at the stools like he was pondering the risk of infection if he chose to sit down on one (he had fresh sutures on his finger, it was a reasonable concern). “Honey? That’s not a predictable stripper name or anything.”

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you _Jason Hunt_.” Tony quipped cheerily (this trip was increasing his blackmail fodder so much), ignoring Steve’s glares and hand slaps when he tried to steal peanuts from the communal (germ filled) bowl. “Didn’t peg you for a spy movie lover.”

Clint had the decency to bow his head in embarrassment. The mix of Jason Bourne and Ethan Hunt probably seemed like a good idea at the time, but it wasn’t anything close to inconspicuous. Clint happened to like spy movies, so what? It would be predictable to think that the inconsistencies and errors would put him off, but they didn’t. He liked the silly plots and the way everything worked out on the end, with the hero getting the girl and riding off into sunset. But, of course, he kept a tight lid on this, knowing he would be mocked forever. Before anyone else could make a crack, a cheery voice spoke behind him.

“Actually, Honey is my real name.” She was blonde and curvy, with a low cost Wonder Woman costume and an honest smile. “My parents didn’t see the humor when I chose my profession.”

She was happy and healthy-looking, not like the tired and jaded strippers you saw on sanctimonious movies. “I didn’t think you’d come back after last night. You were so baked I was sure you wouldn’t find this place again.”

Thor snapped out of it and took a few steps forward, taking the woman’s hand in his and kissing it delicately. “Delighted to meet you Miss Honey. We are very sorry to disturb you in your place of work, but we have reasons to believe that you might be able to aid us in our quest.” Behind him Loki (hands still handcuffed, but otherwise unperturbed) rolled his eyes petulantly and Natasha bit her lip, trying not to laugh or hit anyone (or both).

Honey laughed, open and free, gesturing something to the bartender “I can’t believe you speak like that normally, I assumed it was a drunk trait. Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

They followed her lead and sat down at a table close to the bar, far from the main stage. Tony tried to order beer again, but Steve overruled him again and ordered them all bottled water (having a mini freak-out when he realized he didn’t have his wallet with him; Tony whispered in his hear that had money pockets even in his underwear, making his heart double in speed despite the relief). They were sipping the cool liquid when Honey started explaining the tale.

Evidently they had gotten to the Skimpy Leopard, inebriated and in high spirits, at almost 3 a.m. and caused quite the ruckus. They had ordered exotic drinks (largely thanks to their booze connoisseur) and made playful quips at the dancers and other patrons. Honey had been on the stage in her Wonder Woman costume and Thor had been attracted to the red cape like a moth to flame. One thing led to the other and it culminated with both Thor and Loki being ushered backstage to transform into _superheroes_ and then they were climbing up the stage. According to Honey, they hadn’t needed much prodding to start taking their clothes off (they wouldn’t, Thor had an exhibitionist streak they had been trying to break ever since moving into the Tower) and the crowd went predictably wild.

“We have both male and female stripping, though on different stages. You were lucky a bachelorette party had just arrived and demanded the main stage, because you refused to go to the smaller room where the men usually strip.” She smiled around her cigarette, blowing the smoke in perfect rings. “You made almost 300 dollars in tips, which you were kind enough to give to me. Thanks for that, by the way.” There was a cunning edge to her smile and for a second they saw the minx she undoubtedly was peeking beneath the sweet exterior. “I had no idea someone had recorded it, my roommate called me a while ago to tell me. You have a pretty hilarious story to tell people back home when you return.”

Somehow, they doubted Fury would see things that way.

“That does sound like fun.” The only person more ecstatic than Tony was Loki, for whom every twist and turn of their trip was delightful. His plan had worked and while he was a little far from ruling the Earth, he had successfully ruined the Avengers’ weekend. With lasting results! Also the fact that he was considered attractive to the population at large didn’t hurt.

“Asshole, shut up.” Natasha chided him, stomping on his foot. They were trying to avoid saying each other’s names in public (Tony and Steve being appallingly unsuccessful) and with Loki, finding adoring curse words was not a difficult task. “Was there someone else with us? A guy, shorter than all of us, dark curly hair, kind eyes, totally besotted with this one.” She pointed at Clint, who normally would have denied and try to hit her, but at this point merely looked up eagerly.

She shook her head and they collectively deflated. It seemed like with every new lead they were further and further from finding Bruce. “It was just the six of you. You got in and out in less than two hours, leaving mayhem behind. I have to say it’s the first time I’ve seen anyone get kicked out for cutting off his own finger.”

All eyes turned to Clint. “Excuse me… Did you imply I cut off my own finger?”

“Not implying hot stuff, stating it.” Honey giggled at Clint’s flabbergasted expression and Loki’s contrasting glee. “Captain Alcoholic took out cigars halfway through the boys’ performance and you insisted on cutting the tips. You ended up cutting a different tip altogether. Be glad you weren’t naked as well, things might have gone horribly wrong otherwise.”

Forgetting the heaviness weighing them down, the entire table burst into laughter and Clint ignored the dirtiness of the table and dropped his head in his crossed arms in despair. Out of the entire group, he was the one who was suffering the most from the night’s craziness. He wanted Bruce, his arrows and the workroom of Stark Tower. “I’m never returning to Vegas again. Ever!”

A brief chat with Honey and they concluded that they hadn’t talked about their previous location (of course they hadn’t) and they were again with no clue where to go. This was turning out to be the world’s worst scavenger hunt, with a lot more on the line than mere candy. Still, they were pretty lucky SHIELD hadn’t found them yet and they were able to lay low (especially considering the stunts they got up to). It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t all that good either.

In the middle of telling a funny anecdote about glow in the dark glitter and how a client’s allergy had been found out when his wife noticed red marks on his chest and powder on his trousers, Honey turned to Natasha, face lit with genuine interest. “By the way, how’s the tattoo treating you?” Only the lack of malice kept her from being punched in the face.

In a movie-like moment, the five men turned their heads towards Natasha in synch. Tony couldn’t help his delighted grin (seriously, so much blackmail). Natasha turned her piercing blue eyes to the stripper, a fake smile plastered on her face, trying to act innocent (she wasn’t and she didn’t fool anyone).

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” She said curtly, her voice dripping with _you-better-not-go-there_ (Natasha was very eloquent in her subtext).

Honey was either really obtuse or incredibly smart. “No, I’m sure it was you, your group is something I’m unlikely to forget anytime soon. Plus, it was in a rather private area.” Her voice low enough to be considered a whisper, like she was trying to be discreet. “We even gave you ice, because you were Superman’s friend.” She smiled flirtatiously at Thor, but the man was too busy to notice, his hand covering Loki’s mouth to stop the undoubtedly lascivious comments his brother wanted to make (his eyes matched Tony’s in sparkle; in a different lifetime they would have been great friends).

The men were still looking at their red haired friend, with varying degrees of delight. Honey was called from the bar area and excused herself (in a moment of distracted rudeness, they couldn’t even bother to express their gratitude at her helpfulness). Natasha held on for a few seconds before breaking down and letting her head fall on the grimy table with an audible thump, position mirroring Clint’s.

Steve, the only one able to contain any happiness he might feel and show a contained smile, folded his hands together. “Natasha, anything you have to share with the team?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Just gonna leave this here, for reference http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover.  
> 2\. I should have mentioned already that I’ve never been to Las Vegas, so the places are a mix of research (the hospital) and imagination (the strip club and tattoo parlor). Also movies.  
> Hope you like it!

**Las Vegas**

“Mcdonald’s Drive-Through, how may I take your order.”

Steve was too distracted berating Natasha over concealing important information to notice that instead of trying to find the tattoo parlor responsible for the red head’s new ink, Tony had inconspicuously driven them to the closest Mcdonald’s (outside the five mile radius Steve had imposed, Tony was almost sure).

“Tony what are we…” Had they nor taken Steve to the historic fast food chain restaurant yet? Wait, was Mcdonald’s around in Steve’s time? Tony needed google (no, Tony needed his technology and AI butler back, but at the time google would suffice).

“You cut my wings, you’re not taking my burger away from me Mr. America. I am a grown man, I need sustenance!” Tony spared Steve a mild glare (he was learning from the best in the biz). Fast food wasn’t on the Captain’s approved healthy diet, but dire times required dire measures. “Now, I’ll have a double cheeseburger, large fries and a large coke. What do you guys want?” He turned back to the rest of the van, Clint looking like he needed another painkiller, Natasha brooding like a teenager, Loki looking vivacious and cheerful as Thor seemingly gave up on trying to control him. No one answered him, so he merely rolled his eyes and turned back to the microphone. “You know what? Just give us six of those and we’ll call it a day.” 

And that’s how the Avengers ended up sitting in a Vegas parking lot on a Sunday afternoon eating burgers and complaining about the lack of ketchup for their fries. Because their life was never not strange, even when it was painfully normal.

“Tony I could have eaten a burger.” Tony’s way of avoiding a lecture similar to the one Natasha was being given (momentarily paused so they could eat), was to backtrack his original order and order Steve a Caesar Salad. And while Steve appreciated that Tony cared enough about his food choices to think of it, it wasn’t all that fun to eat a salad while everyone else was gorging on fried goods. “I could have eaten a burger. I do eat unhealthy food on occasion, it won’t kill me or anything.”

The occasions were mostly post mission ventures into the closest restaurant, where they worked off any remaining adrenaline by eating excessively and bickering with each other until they couldn’t say another word (awkward silences usually followed) and Tony suspected that the only reason Steve even went for those was because his brain was reeling too much to stop him from doing so. Tony grinned deviously, shoving chips down his throat (he was damned hungry, he doubted they had gotten around to eat the night before), but it dimmed when he saw Steve poking at his lettuce with a plastic fork unenthusiastically.

 _Forgive me Father for I am about to commit a personal sin._ With altruism he would forever deny having, Tony sighed and divided his burger in two, handing one half to Steve wordlessly.Steve looked at him bewildered, lips twisting in a small smile (like he was afraid a bigger one would scare Tony’s random act of kindness away.) “Tony, you don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do, shut up.” He didn’t, not really. He was an only child unaccustomed to sharing (the whole reason he was initially so resistant to the Band of Misfits Initiative), but Steve made it easy. Once they went past the Neanderthal behavior and came to an understanding (became friends), he systematically made Tony want to be a better person ( _he had to be good, he had to be deserving…_ ). Trying not to let any stray feeling escape his feeble control and show on his face, Tony coughed and changed his voice to a joking tone. “Can’t afford to have you pass out on us in the middle of the… what did you call it? Investigation? Yeah, we’re cutting your CSI’s. Despite your insistences, I’m not sure rabbit food qualifies as nourishment, so I’m forced to share my own double cheese yumminess with you. It’s a burden, oh star-spangled one. A burden, I tell you.”

Steve’s face told him that he didn’t believe Tony for a second, but he only nodded in a silent thank you, not uttering any words that might make Tony recoil further into his figurative mask. Things were still strained between them and Steve didn’t want to add anything to it until they could have a serious conversation. Which they would be having. Sooner rather than later.

Still, when their hands touched on the fries’ container, neither was very stealth at hiding the nervous tingling the simple touch evoked.

“Natasha, how can you not tell me what it is. I’m your best friend!” Clint was alternatively sucking on his straw and nudging Natasha with his foot, trying half heartedly to extricate the tattoo details from her less than cooperative form.

Natasha wasn’t fazed by his (weak) attempts, eating her fries without blinking, legs tucked underneath her on the bench. They had all made themselves comfortable on their temporary house and even if they didn’t understand Tony’s reasoning behind renting the van, the extra room came in handy. “Don’t flatter yourself Barton. You’re a coworker, a friend at best.”

“Yeah cupid, don’t be an idiot. I’m everybody’s best friend.” Sarcasm and presumptuousness were great covers. Steve curbed the strong urge to hug Tony, because the man had just said it to elicit a reaction. Deep down he still had a hard time believing any of them were really his friends.

“Stark, don’t be obnoxious. And you all can stop trying. I’m not telling you what my tattoo is. Or where it is.” She looked pointedly at Loki, who had been suggesting private areas, calling them the worst possible names the English language possessed (where had he learned such foul language? Thor was the example of Shakespearean propriety). Loki shrugged with an easy smile; the day was humanizing the villain more than anyone was comfortable with. The next _I’m-Taking-Over-The-Word-Kneel-Bitches_ confrontation was going to be a little bizarre. “It’s the result of temporary insanity that will not be repeated in the near future. I would appreciate it if you could kindly drop it.”

They didn’t have any intention of doing so, but figured they had better odds of getting the story out at the tattoo parlor. If she didn’t kill the artist who inked her on sight, of course. Killing innocents wasn’t on the game plan, she’d have to curb her urges.

“Alright people, lunch break over.” Tony declared once it seemed like they were all done with wrecking their health for the time being (“I’m not done with my apple pie!”, “No one cares Loki”), crumpling the packets into a large paper bag. “Now that we are satisfactorily fed, we can go hunt down the people who were courageous enough to draw with needles on Natasha’s skin and survive to tell the tale.” No one even blinked, let alone laughed. Tough crowd. “Sweetums are you sure this is the right place? I don’t want to go knocking on wrong doors.” He checked the card Natasha had given him and he was pretty sure he could drive there without getting impossibly lost. He did know his main Las Vegas, even if more often than not he was being driven around instead of doing all the driving (with no GPS at that; he was demanding some sort of medal once the weekend was over).

“Yes, I’m sure. I took the card off my bra, so unless we went to more than one tattoo parlor, that’s the place we’re looking for.” She tried to get the words out nonchalantly, but they didn’t go unnoticed.

Clint nearly hit his head on the van’s low ceiling with surprise. “Did you get a boob tattoo? You have to tell me if you got a boob tattoo.” He insisted, nudging Natasha again on her side (and earning himself an elbow to the ribs).

Loki smiled silkily, with all the intention of a well-aimed gun. “Funny Mr. Barton, I wasn’t aware you were a breast man. I always pegged you more for a green destroyer lover. Is Dr. Banner’s absence changing your tastes?” His words were poison and okay, maybe the future confrontations wouldn’t be so bad. The demi-god built with one hand and destroyed with the other.

“LOKI SHUT UP” The five remaining Avengers choired prettily. Uh, they weren’t aware they could do that. Wonder how well they could do show choir songs…

Tony turned the car on again, reversing it out of the parking lot and onto a main street. Loki’s words had the desired intention of breaking the relative ease of the conversation. Bruce was back at the forefront of everybody’s minds and they were remembered of their mission. **Operation: Find Bruce** wasn’t completed and they had work to do.

Still, Tony couldn’t help one last comment as he adjusted his sunglasses and honked at a rude driver who cut him off improperly. “Natasha, you do know we’ll end up seeing it the next time you have a wardrobe malfunction after being attacked by the monster of the week. You should just spare everyone the waiting time and show us now.”

Natasha threw her empty coke cup at the back of his head and Steve buried his head in his hands, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Tony just… shut up and drive to the tattoo parlor, please.” Not a sentence anyone expected to hear from apple pie captain America. It was pretty funny. Well, at least it made Loki laugh.

*

“Hey, it’s my favorite costumers!”

They might have been magic-drugged out of their minds, but at least they had been delightful company.

The tattoo parlor was (thankfully) a much more respectable place than the strip club had been. It was located just outside the main strip and it looked clean and well kept, the paintings on the wall detailed and gorgeous (the likelihood of Natasha’s tattoo being poorly drawn was reduced). There was a small waiting area up front and then a few chairs in the back. From the door they could see a young looking girl getting a star tattooed on her foot and an older gentleman a portrait on his forearm. The man who was behind the main counter greeted then cheerfully, with a smile as wide as Honey’s had been.

“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Is your husband finally letting you get that tattoo you wanted?” He looked at Tony who was forced to frown. Not remembering sucked (especially if amongst his hidden memories was a Steve that acted like his husband).

“Are you the guy that did my tattoo?” She asked bluntly, all business and no pleasure. The guy nodded and before he could utter another word, Natasha had jumped over the counter and was holding the guy against the wall, hand tight around his throat (it seemed like they were now the type of superheroes who squeezed information out of people’s crushed tracheas; wonderful).

The entire room froze, including the tattoo artists who were working on putting permanent ink on people’s skins. Maybe they shouldn’t be distracted from their jobs.

Steve smiled pleasantly. “It’s alright folks, it’s just a small misunderstanding, she’ll let him go soon enough.” Hopefully before he died of oxygen deprivation. “Carry on.” And because even out of his costume he was a very commanding man, people obeyed Steve. “Natasha, you mind hurrying things along?”

“Just a minute.” She answered in her normal dry voice, like she wasn’t holding a man much taller and heavier than her up by his throat. “Isn’t it against the rules to tattoo someone who isn’t in their right state of mind? Aren’t you supposed to make sure people want to have a mark on their bodies forever? Did you really think taking advantage of someone vulnerable to make a quick buck and leave your stamp on someone else’s skin was a good idea? Uh, tough guy?” She banged his head against the wall a few times, enough to disorient but not leaving lasting marks. That she and Clint trained hand to hand combat together was obvious. “No answer?”

“Natasha, I don’t think he can breathe properly.” Clint remarked, arms crossed in front of his chest, enjoying to view of Natasha kicking ass. She shrugged and let him sag a little, hand still firmly poised where she could squeeze the life out of him without breaking a sweat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about lady…” Natasha increased the strength and he gasped for breath. “You didn’t look like you were on drugs. You looked happy and merry, but your friends had just gotten married, I figured that and a little champagne were the causes.” That made a smidgen of sense. For someone who didn’t know them, they might have looked like happy people after a wedding. The people they encountered afterwards all recounted their obvious drunkenness, but it was possible that the magic’s effect strengthened with time. Maybe. They had no way of knowing. Meaning she had no excuse to kill him (none that would hold up in a court of law, or a SHIELD meeting room).

Damn. She had been looking forward to maim the man who had put the double D on her ass.

Slowly, she started to let him go, when Clint coughed behind her. “Uh, Natasha?”

“Oh right. Was another dude with us? Curly hair, smaller frame, sweet natured smile?” Seriously, Natasha had a way with words. Her descriptions of Bruce were becoming more adorable with each time she had to say them.

Tattooed guy leaned his head to the side and did a quick headcount, shaking his head fearfully, like he was afraid Natasha might hit him again (she might). “No… Just the six of you.”

Along with how fantastic they had been, that was the recurring element of their night. They were quickly running out of places to look. Where the hell had they left Bruce?

Natasha let the guy go and he doubled on the counter spluttering unattractively. She slid over the counter gracefully, returning to Clint’s side. “I think he won’t tattoo anyone at a late hour without any previous appointment any time soon. Will he?”

The man was still regaining his composure, but nodded regardless. “You… have some serious anger issues. And for the record, I tried letting you know tattooing your ex-boyfriend’s initials was a bad idea, but you were pretty adamant in your request. You’re just as scary when you’re determined as when you’re angry.”

A beat of silence followed the five men staring at Natasha incredulously. She had to be held back by Thor not to have another go at the man.

“Tasha, you didn’t…” Clint was trying to pick his metaphorical chin off the floor. Natasha would deny it, but the trust thing went both ways and he knew perfectly well the one man that had left a lasting imprint. “Tell me you didn’t tattoo Matt’s name on your boob.”

Tony’s eyes opened with recognition just as the tattoo artist spoke up again (he must not value his life a lot). “I don’t know who Matt is, but she had me draw two Ds. Also it was on her ass.”

There was a moment of confusion when Natasha tried to lunge at the suicidal man and had to be held back at all costs, as he cowered behind the corner. Once they managed to straighten things up, the tattoo artist (whose name was Jude, they found out in the meantime) apologized for his rudeness and Natasha apologized (under veiled threats from Steve’s part) for her impetuousness (an understated way of describing her actions). They ended up having a conciliatory cup of coffee at the Employee Only back lounge, chatting with Jude and his tattoo-artist colleague Kylie. Thor was admiring Kylie’s sleeve, remarking about _courageous woman_ and _beautiful art_.

“Do you think I should acquire one of these tribal drawings, my friends?” He asked the room in general, fingers tracing the flowers on Kylie’s blushing skin. “To honor my love for Lady Jane?”

“First I’d see how she reacts to the stripping thing, then I’d pen my everlasting love down.” Tony answered, marveling at the wonders of coffee (it was his first cup of the day, and at late afternoon, it was a personal record). He doubted that Dr. Foster would want a full sized portrait of herself on Thor’s chest, but it would be fun watching the demi-god trying to convince her. He remembered something that had been chewing up the back of his mind since they had entered the store. “Hey, what did I want to tattoo yesterday? You mentioned something before…” Before the fiery red hair tried to kill him for complying with her drugged wishes.

Jude nodded, placing his blue mug on the table he was leaning on. “You wanted to tattoo your wedding ring. Something about not always being able to wear it, but wanting it on you at all times. Your husband convinced you not to do it, but I’m not sure why, it’s a pretty simple design. I even recognized the bands from next door, I’ve tattooed them plenty of times.”

Tony’s blood ran cold and he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably. “Next door?”

“Yeah next door, you know, the chapel? They sell wedding rings to spur of the moment couples. They have the telltale forever sign on the inside, I saw it when you took it out for me to sketch.” He said the words like they were no big deal, but to Tony they were life altering. He looked at Steve and saw him dry swallowing in a similar state of surprise.

Well, at least they had their next location.

The wedding chapel. Next door.

God help them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ex-boyfriend referenced is Daredevil or Matt Murdock, who my research indicated as a former lover of Black Widow. The others were Hawkeye (not usable for obvious reasons) and Bucky (I'm not touching that storyline with a ten foot pole, mainly because I don’t know enough about it).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Initial inspiration = http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover.  
> Hope the chapter is enjoyable.

**Las Vegas**

“Are we going inside, or are we staying out here all night?”

It wasn’t that Natasha was an impatient person in nature, as a spy she had to have a minimum amount of tolerance to get information out of uncooperative subjects, but when it came to her _friends_ (she wouldn’t completely lie if she just called them coworkers, but Steve always gave her disappointed parental glances when she did and she wasn’t a fan of those), her fuse was short. She blamed it on their individual insufferableness, which was amplified whenever they got together. Really, there was only so much stubbornness a person could deal with.

Also, Tony and Steve had been standing outside the wedding chapel for a good half an hour, too scared to go inside like the chicken shits they were. Someone had to set them straight.

Well… someone had to show them the right path at least; if the wedding rings were any indication, setting them straight might be too hard… Wait, no.

Natasha’s head was filled with bad puns. She needed to get laid (right after laser erased the double D from her bottom, maybe afterwards if the person in question couldn’t see it).

“We’re… thinking.” Tony offered, though he didn’t seem too sure of it himself. During the entire daylong exploration, the location of his wedding of its details had been one of the more pressing questions that plagued his mind. By the time they had reached the tattoo parlor he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get the answers. Had JARVIS been up and running, things would have been much easier, one simple search into city records and he’d have all the details he could ever want. But with the actual chapel right in front of him… he was scared.

The chapel, which was more down the road than right next-door, looked absolutely ordinary on the outside. It might pass for a traditional church (modest, in tan wood, with a brass, well-worn bell), if not for the large “WEDDING CHAPPEL” sign up front. Still, it didn’t look cheap and cheesy. Even under the influence, they had chosen well.

Steve looked equally petrified, arms crossed in front of his chest defensively, face set in something no one fully recognized.

Neither seemed that keen on moving.

Natasha wasn’t in the mood to wait until light struck. “Well, I’m going in and asking if they saw Bruce, you can come along if you want to.” And she proceeded to march up to the entrance of the chapel, slamming the door open unceremoniously, followed closely by a chuckling Clint and the brooding brothers. Tony took a deep breath and let his hand brush against Steve’s, a spark of something wonderful flaring in his chest when he felt the other man’s golden ring against his heated skin (he momentarily worried about the reactor, but it seemed to be running with no issues; the odd feelings must have had a different origin).

“Come on Cap, let’s get our marriage license.”

Steve smiled with a nod, letting their hands lace briefly before getting up and approaching the church. Tony tracked after him, hand absently touching his chest, willing the heart within to slow down. He didn’t need a coronary on top of a surprise marriage (and the beating he would undoubtedly get once he returned to New York).

No one expected what they found at the chapel.

The building had a small foyer were the business transaction of the _best-day-of-your-life_ was done (Tony spotted a glass case with rings similar to the one he was sporting). The woman behind the counter, professional looking and demurely dressed, was calmly talking to an irate Natasha.

“What do you mean it’s not…” The red head was visibly furious about something, Clint’s calming arm on her shoulder not doing much of anything. The other woman remained composed, probably too used to deal with insane people (everyone in the city seemed to be). Instead of answering Natasha, she turned to Tony and Steve when they entered the waiting room.

“There you are. I was hoping you would return.” That was a first. Though they had been generally well received and liked (the hospital being a clear exception), no one had actually been waiting for them to come back. Most doubted they could if they wanted to. “We have some unfinished business to attend to.”

That took them both back. They were the ones that had questions that needed answering, what could the chapel woman possibly have to finish with them?

The answered surprised them.

“You’re technically not married.” Wait, what?

No one said a word and the woman took it as a cue to continue. “You purchased our deluxe wedding package last night, which includes the ceremony, the wedding rings, the DVD and the photo set.” She handed them a packet and Tony rushed to take out the pictures. Bruce wasn’t in them (he was almost expecting him not to), but instead the six of them looked back at him, posing in front of the aisle in what could be described as the one of the silliest wedding picture ever to be taken.

Thor was smiling widely and holding a tacky bouquet of flowers, almost falling on top of Clint, who was holding his stomach with laughter. Loki had a giggling Natasha on his back in a klutzy piggyback ride and was smiling in a way no one but Thor had ever seen. And in the middle of them stood Tony and Steve, holding each other tightly, the picture of the newlyweds they thought they were.

They looked so damned happy Tony’s chest was back to churning, only this time unpleasantly. His hands shook as he traced their faces. Steve’s eyes were happy and honest, smile as bright as he had ever seen it and he… Tony’s face was soft with a vulnerability he barely ever felt comfortable with showing before. He looked…

Happy.

“Like I was telling your friend here, you bought the pack and paid for it in cash.” Thank you Tony’s underpants’ money pocket. “But you didn’t provide us with full names or proper identification. You insisted on putting down the names Iron Man and Captain America for registry.”

Oh no they hadn’t! They were so dead. They were like the least discreet magic-drugged people in the existence of the planet.

They might be the _only_ magic-drugged people in the existence of the planet, but that was another matter entirely.

“It’s not that the resemblance between your group and the masked heroes isn’t amusing, all you need is a Hulk to have the whole gang.” Her amiable smile was a contrast with Tony’s internal turmoil. “I told you couldn’t use trademark names on your wedding license, but you were pretty obstinate in your request. We figured as long as you had paid for it, we could do a mock wedding for you.”

 _Weren’t married, weren’t married, weren’t married…_ It had been nice to pretend, for a few hours, that he and Steve were together and blissful, even if Steve didn’t feel the same way. Now that the illusion was shattered, the hole that was left behind was nothing but a painful wound. Everything hurt. Tony had survived hell and back but this? Might as well be the worst pain he ever went through.

This is why he didn’t get close to people. Because eventually, they all ended up hurting you, even without meaning to.

“So we’re not legally married?” Tony managed to ask in a voice that barely resembled his own, tired and cracked around the edges. He needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance. “We were never actually married?” 

“I’m sorry, but no.”

Tony barely heard the woman say that they could fill new forms with the correct information and repeat the process, only this time for real, her words indistinct in his ears, his hearing tunneling in a way similar to his vision. His shirt felt too tight against his chest and he stumbled out of the chapel clumsily, not saying another word to anyone. The ring on his finger, the one that had felt like physical proof that he and Steve were united in some way, now it weighed on his finger, burning like acid.

Thank heavens for the sunset, because Tony wasn’t sure he could deal with the desert’s sun hitting his eyes when all his senses were short-circuiting like a badly assembled electrical board.

Steve followed him to the parking lot, stopping short of touching his shoulder, unsure if the move would be easily accepted. Instead he leaned against the van and watched as Tony tried to wear a hole into the concrete pavement, hands systematically running through his hair and adjusting the collar of his shirt. When words finally left him, he cringed at their joking tone. “Well, at least this way we don’t have to get a divorce.”

Wrong thing to say, because Tony covered his eyes, voice coming out angry. “Steve just… stop talking.”

But Steve wouldn’t be deterred, couldn’t let Tony tear himself apart without action. “Tony, you need to talk to me. Unless we talk, things can never go back to the way they were.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want them to go back to the way they were? That maybe I like the idea of being married to you.” Tony stopped, looked straight at Steve, searching for the disgust he was sure to find in the other man’s blue eyes. He didn’t find it, but neither did he found anything that would soothe the crazy currently occupying his head.

“Oh, uh, mom and dad are fighting again.” Clint tried to dispel some of the tension from the air, but his efforts were met with twin glares of death, so he zipped his mouth shut, sagging against Natasha. Tony hadn’t noticed the others leaving the church, but since they were around, they might as well stay for the conversation. Tony might need witnesses to testify in court that Steve killed him without serious provocation.

“Tony, what do you mean by…” Steve was doing the uncomfortable looking thing again and it grated on Tony’s last remaining nerve. He laughed, loud and humorlessly, throwing his arms up in the air.

“I mean that I love you Captain Oblivious. I mean that I’ve loved you for a long time.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself and make a modicum amount of sense. “I mean that you were my hero and then my unwilling team mate and them my friend and somewhere along the line I fell in love with you.” Not somewhere along the line, he could pin point the exact moment he started falling for the other man, but he didn’t want to give the moment away, it was too personal to shout in heated argument.

The moment they defeated the Chitauri and Tony’s face armor came off, the moment when he realized he was alive when every odd said he should be dead. The moment when he saw Steve’s relieved face and he was glad he had made it, not only for himself, but so he could see the other man’s smiling face again, so he didn’t have to cause him any pain. That was the moment Tony Stark started to fall for Steve Rogers.

What he didn’t know was that, that moment? That was the moment Steve Rogers also started to fall in love with Tony Stark.

“And I know this is stupid, I know you’re the commander of this team and you feel nothing for me other than friendship. I know this, I’m perfectly aware of this reality, but I can’t help it.” Tony was in full breakdown mode, the night of rampage and day of failed searches finally taking a toll on him. “I’m usually quite good at keeping a lid on my feelings, but this? This sham of a wedding? It’s taunting me with an unrealistic version of what could have been, one I can never have. It’s cruel and it’s painful and I don’t want to hear about it again. I just want to find Bruce and go home!”

There was a moment of stunned silence, where no one could speak (Loki tried to giggle, but Thor beat him into stillness).

Steve was the next to speak, voice fully controlled, body language neutral, a stark contrast with Tony’s shaking and heavy breathing. “What if I told you you were wrong?”

Wrong wasn’t something Tony was used to be, and even in mid freak-out he was puzzled. “Wrong?” The word tasted foreign in his mouth. “I’m not wrong. We are competent people we can find Banner. And when we do, the jet is ready to take us back to New York.”

Taking a leaf out the Stark Behavior Book, Steve rolled his eyes, approaching Tony with small steps (Tony’s reaction was to flinch and recoil, trying to hide within himself). “About the wanting what you can’t have Stark? What if I told you you were wrong about that?”

Their audience visibly reacted to the words. Clint hid his sniggers behind his hand, Thor beamed radiantly, hands once again covering his brother’s vicious mouth (but unable to hide the _kill-me-now_ eye rolls) and Natasha… Sort of squealed a little.

Tony was still shaking by the time Steve was close enough that he could feel his body heat. Large hands framed his cheeks carefully, tenderly, like he was made out of breakable glass. “Steve you don’t… You can’t…”

“You are a good person Anthony Stark.” Steve whispered softly enough that only the two of them could hear the words. “You deserve good things happening to you.”

Tony opened his mouth to disagree, because really, he wasn’t, and that was mighty arrogant of Steve to just assume that… But Steve took the chance to press their lips together in a gentle kiss.

Their first kiss was perfect. Well, no, no it wasn’t. Tony was shaking and Steve was excessively careful. It was clumsy and sloppy; their breaths were nothing to write home about and they hadn’t showered in more 24 hours. They were clingy and desperate and there was an excess of teeth and spit bordering on distasteful. No one in their right mind would put it on any media platform to be displayed to others.

It was still them and it was still the first time so, cheesy as it may sound, it was perfect to them.

It went out for a while, Steve eventually feeling bold enough to push Tony against the van, hands slipping beneath the dress shirt. Tony was just about to reciprocate, moaning at the feeling of the calloused hands on his skin, because damn, Steve had really nice hands, when an amused cough sounded behind Steve.

“This is all very adorable, and while I am glad you finally got your shit together, we still have no idea where Bruce is.” Clint drawled, a hint of a smile present in his voice. Tony and Steve parted startled, momentarily forgetting they weren’t alone in the world. Forgetting that they were in fact, next to a wedding chapel in Las Vegas, in front of their closest friends and in a heap of trouble.

“I think we’re officially out of clues, any idea on what we should do next?” Natasha averted her eyes, giving the not-newlyweds time to rearrange their clothing (and hair) into something somewhat presentable.

Steve was able to gather his wits rather quickly. “I know no one wants to consider this option, but I think it’s time we call this in and ask for SHIELD’s help.” Deep inside he was still a soldier, good at following orders from a higher entity “We don’t know in how much trouble Bruce might be in, we need help.” The possibility of them simply forgetting him somewhere along the way was almost entirely excluded. They had lost Bruce at a time where they still acted mostly sobered, and very early in the night, so they had to assume that something had happened to him and they hadn’t drunkenly left him to rot somewhere. They had no way of knowing where they had been between the toast and the chapel, so they had nowhere specific to look.

Tony shook his head. “We still have time. We don’t have to turn him in yet.”

“Tony…”

“Look, I’m not just being stubborn.” He fixed Steve with his most compelling stare, previous meltdown already forgotten and his normal, confident self back in place. “We have a bit more than 24 hours before Fury’s Peace Conference, there is still time to find Bruce.” He picked up the map that had come with the van from the glove compartment, along with a blue pen. Haphazardly, he drew a circle surrounding the chapel, one around the hotel, and a bigger one encompassing the space in between. “There’s 2.6 miles between here and the hotel, I say we search every nook and corner we can get into between the two. If morning comes and we still haven’t found him, we’ll report it.” Clint wanted to object, but he knew that would be the condition Steve would impose in order to keep the mad search.

Seemingly in agreement, the group got back on the van and took off to whatever land they found on the space drawn on the old map. Steve couldn’t help himself, lacing his hand with Tony’s on the stick shift, smiling when Tony laced their fingers together. They still weren’t done talking, a couple of declarations and a few kisses hardly constituted a proper conversation, but it was a start. They’d have time and they would talk. And they’d be together, which was the most important thing.

From the backseat, Loki tested his handcuffs and asked in an unassuming, friendly tone of voice.

“So… Anyone feeling like letting me go? No? Alrighty, just checking. Let’s find the angry Doctor then.” 

But unfortunately, they didn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. One last time with feeling - http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23038475160/the-avengers-get-a-hangover  
> Hope you like it!

**New York**

_Stark, it’s Director Fury. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you need to stop it immediately. Overlooking the fact that you were undoubtedly responsible for this unsanctioned joyride, you have been unreachable since Friday afternoon. I don’t know what your plans are, but they better include attending the Peace Conference that, as you are perfectly aware, is imperative for the planet’s security. So turn your goddamned phone and call Stark! Await dire consequences upon your return._

*

_Tony what have you done this time? Fury had been calling me non-stop since you left, like I’m supposed to know where you are, like I have any control over what you do. If I had anything that even remotely resembled control over you, there would be less reckless gallivanting and more responsible attendance of board meetings. Apart from the fact that it was really stupid, underline that word Tony, stupid, to disappear without a trace, you could have picked a better time to do so. Tony, honestly, just turn on your phone and come home. If I have to hear Maria Hill’s voice one more time, I’ll hit someone. Possible her. Probably you. Also, I’m getting a raise._

*

_Captain America… I mean Steve, I mean Mr. Rogers… I. (sigh) Commander of the Avengers, it’s Agent Coulson here. Or Phil. I think I told you to call me Phil. Anyway, though I understand the need to… How did Mr. Stark put it on the note he left… **Relax and Recover away from you jackasses**. That’s… colorful. Though I understand the needs of the team, I must reprove the timing and ask you to return to the base at once. You have obligations that must be kept. I’ll try to kept Director Fury’s anger under wraps, but I can’t promise anything._

_Oh and if you could tell Natasha and Clint that deactivating their SHIELD phones is a form of insolence and shall be properly punished. Hope to hear from you soon._

*

 _Doctor Banner? It’s Peter, Peter Parker, sir. We had an appointment today at the Stark Tower today, to discuss gamma radiation… For school? I was barred at the door by some very impressive looking securities, so I assume you couldn’t make it. My schedule is pretty… hectic, but I’m sure if you’re available I’ll be able to reschedule._ (“Police! Freeze!”) _Gotta go, talk to you later._

*

_Thor, we need to talk. I’m not upset but the video requires some explaining (“Nice ass!”) Also, if I were you, I wouldn’t bring Loki back; Darcy seems about ready to jump his bones. Love you, call me soon._

*

**Las Vegas**

“Steve… What are you doing?”

Tony hadn’t meant to sound so annoyed, but he was exhausted. The night had proven to be as fruitless as the previous day had been. Following the plan, they had scoured the area encompassed between the red lines, every seedy bar and shoddy casino (which reminded them they probably hadn’t gotten around to gamble, which was a damn shame). They had no luck. No one had seen Bruce, though they had stopped on a Spanish restaurant along the way to ingest they weight in tapas and beer. Apart from finding out their love for jamón, it had been useless. The sun had risen when Tony extended the search to the outskirts of the city, in the vain hope that they missed something, but it didn’t seem to be the case.

The team spirit was in an all time low.

Steve had been writing on a small notebook he had picked up along the way, drawing bullet points and jolting down sentences in small neat rows. Tony had been too distracted by the road signs to notice when he started, and by the time he saw Steve was already on the second page.

Steve looked up, shrugging and returning to the page, knees pulled up to make a table for his notebook. “Writing down what we know about the weekend, in case _someone_ ” meaningful glance for the innocent looking God of Mischief, who was napping on Thor’s shoulder. “Finds a way to pull our leg again.”

Tony normally thought Steve was a pretty smart guy, but there must have been some side effects to the magic drug, because that was the stupidest thing he had heard all day/night/who knows. “Show me that for a second.”

Steve handed Tony the black notebook. Once Tony was sure it was out of the blonde’s reach, he manually opened the window and threw the notebook into the desert, where it flipped through the air a few times before landing on the side of the road with a dusty _thump_. Steve followed the movement in shock, mouth open comically. “Why… Why would you do that? Tony that had information. Important information. Classified information! What if someone picks it up and reads it? What then?” His face was angry, but he was trying to keep it controlled, if not for himself, then for the sake of the napping childr… _Teammates_ in the back seats.

“They’ll think it’s the ramblings of someone delusional. No one will buy it for the truth.” That seemed to be Tony’s answer for anything. _Too crazy, no one will believe it_ , and for the most part, he had been right. They hadn’t been spotted since they left and at worst people thought they were look-a-likes. The lack of the trademark facial hair on Tony’s face was probably the best mask of them all; without it no one believed him to be _the real_ Tony Stark. “And better some random person than a SHIELD agent. Can you imagine Fury’s face if he ever heard about the things we did that night?”

Unsanctioned tattoos, cavorting with the enemy, cutting off fingers, getting married, loosing someone who had the potential to turn green and mean. And that’s just the things they were aware of, there was a possibility they had done more without knowing. They couldn’t keep the demi-gods stripping a secret, but the rest would have to remain so. For their own safety.

Steve took a harsh deep breath and closed his eyes. “Stop the car.”

“Steve, what are you…”

“Unless you want our first argument to be about a notebook inside of this goddamned van, you will pull over right now Stark!”

“I thought our first argument was yesterday next to the wedding chapel… I’m pulling over, I’m pulling over.” He added hastily, finding a wide enough side of the road that he could safely stop the car. Once he did, Steve immediately opened the door and bounded out. He looked at the rising sun with squinted eyes, breathing in and out, in and out, finding his zen and sticking to it.

“You’ve been doing yoga with Bruce haven’t you?” Steve’s head turned to see Tony, crossed legged and serious, sitting on the passenger side of the van. He was trying to smile, but his dark eyes betrayed him, sorrowful and unguarded in a way few got to see them.

Steve’s anger was gone in a few seconds and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah I have.” He didn’t want to say the next words, but he had to, because no one else was going to, and they needed to be said. “We need to call it in Tony.” Tony’s answer was to shake his head vehemently. “Tony…”

“Steve we can’t.” His voice was strong, even when it cracked. “This isn’t me being stubborn this… This is not about me. It’s about Bruce. We can’t turn this in because things will just go back to square one. They’ll go back to distrusting Bruce and his life will go back to be a living hell. I can’t… We can’t do that.”

“Tony…”

“He’s my friend!” He wasn’t used to having many friends, still didn’t feel comfortable in calling the whole team friends, but Bruce… Bruce was his science bro! He was unassuming and open and they bonded over experiments and being outsiders and… Tony wanted to protect him at all costs. This didn’t feel like protecting, it felt like… betrayal.

“He’s my friend too.” Steve approached Tony and grabbed his hands, kissing the palms reverently. “He’s my friend too Tony. But there’s nothing else we can do… Not like this. Not alone. We need JARVIS and SHIELD and your suit. We don’t know where Bruce is, if he’s hurt, if he’s lost…” _If he ran away._ “We need access to better resources. We need to call it in.” He finished with a whisper. Tony was still shaking his head when Steve hugged him to his chest.

“Let him do it.”

The last person they expected to talk uttered the words. Clint was leaning on the open window, eyes red rimmed and squirming like his finger was giving him fresh trouble. He shrugged. “Steve’s right. We’ve done all we can. It’s time we call in the big guns.” He wasn’t pleased with the words, but the trained agent in him saw the only outcome of the situation.

It took a few minutes until Tony's mental reasoning convinced him that the guys were right. In the end, he nodded and grabbed his phone, turning it on. “I’ll call Fury.” He was aware that the good director already held him responsible for the adventure, might as well confirm it by being the one to initiate contact. Steve looked like he was about to suggest doing it himself, but didn’t really want to, so Tony pecked his lips swiftly. “It’s… It’s better if I’m the one to do it.”

He stepped away from the van, from Steve’s miserable face, Clint and Natasha in twin brooding moods and Thor… Looking the happiest of the bunch, polishing his hammer (which, despite not leaving the Bellagio with them, was in the Caesers Palace suite when they woke up) and smiling joyfully. Hanging around his almost power-less brother for an extended period of time was good for him.

Channeling all his prowess and cocky persona, Tony dialed the (unfortunately) familiar number with a sigh. “Hey Director Anger-Issues, it’s Iron Man here…”

*

After hearing Fury shout himself hoarse, The Avengers and the dude-who-occasionally-tries-to-kill-them made their way back to their original hotel in strained silence. They had been ordered to return back to the hotel at once and stay put until a SHIELD team arrived on location, which could take a couple of hours. Hopefully, they could find and retrieve Banner in time for the Conference, if not, then the rest of them would return alone and represent the team.

It didn’t need to be said that their inconsiderate and dangerous actions would be suitably disciplined.

Tony generally wasn’t afraid of Fury, but the threat instilled the fear of God in him. Not for himself, but for his team.

The valet at the hotel looked like he was growing through the various degrees of shocked when the van’s key was thrust unto his hand, and only the sheer presence of the group and the weapons they were carrying kept him from flat out refusing (Mjolnir was visible at Thor’s hip and Natasha wasn’t feeling like being sneaky, her gun hanging from her limp hand). They went through the side lobby and into their private suite, wanting to look normal and collected before the rescue team came. Showers, coffee, food and kisses (for some of them) were required ASAP.

Once again they were surprised by what they found. Because after more than 24 hours of looking, preceded by the maybe 12 hours of amnesia, they had found Bruce Banner. On the living room couch of their suite. Reading.

“Hey guys. You took your sweet time returning.” He looked quite comfortable, lying on the couch in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, feet bare against the beige corduroy. He had his glasses on and his hair was adorably disheveled, not like he just ran away from an alien army, but like he simply forgot to brush it. The book on his lap didn’t look scientific or difficult, but instead a fiction thriller (one of Dan Brown’s by the look of the cover). He looked… Relaxed. “I’m glad to see Loki didn’t kill you and vice versa. Did you have fun?”

There was a moment of stunned silence when no one could speak (it seemed to happen quite a lot to them, being stunned into silence). Bruce had been at the hotel this whole time? And they hadn’t bothered to check it once?

The Earth’s Mightiest Heroes might the universe’s stupidest ones.

“How… how did you…” Natasha was able to stammer, holding onto Clint’s arm to make sure he didn't pass out.

Bruce seemed confused by their astonishment. “I told you guys I’d be back at the hotel. I know you were dead set on livin’ la vida loca, but that’s not my thing, so I retreated back here after the toast.” He put his book down and adjusted the glasses on his nose. “I was a bit worried about Loki and his sudden appearance, but you were all so welcoming and happy about it, I figured it was just a new phase of our relationship with Thor’s little brother and rolled with it.” In a world where friends and foes changed on a weekly basis, adaptability was key. But not that much Bruce, Jesus. “Worry which only increased the longer it took for you to return. But then I heard Tony’s voicemail and was appeased.”

Tony cringed because he remembered recording the voicemail. It was his standard _Out partying, if I don’t return home tonight then I got too drunk and rented a room in a different hotel. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before the flight. XOXO, Iron Man_. He had it programmed to appear every time he went on a party-bender, as a mean to pacify Pepper (which was largely unsuccessful, but he still tried anyway). He could see how Bruce would assume it was for him. “Didn’t you blackout?”

“No… Was I supposed to?”

“You didn’t drink the wine, did you?” Tony asked, not really needing an answer to his question. His chest was returning back to normal, no anxiety or fear pulling at his heartstrings painfully.

The scientist ducked his head with a blush. “I couldn’t risk it Tony, I’m sorry. Wait, does that mean you guys blacked out?” No one answered and his confusion was turning to frustration. He had had a perfectly restful weekend, but now all his peace and calm were shattering by his friends’ strangeness. Also, why the hell did they look so rumpled and flustered? Were those the clothes they had on Friday? “Guys what’s happening? What am I missing.”?

Instead of a verbal answer, Clint took a few steps forward, looked Bruce straight in the eye and kissed him. And then again. And then again and again, until the others had to look away and find things to do to keep busy. Bruce was safe. Their asses weren’t in danger of being firmly kicked. Additional conversation could wait for a better time. Tony still wasn’t sure when that had happened and he needed intel from someone who did (that meant Natasha, who was going to spend a lovely afternoon telling him all about bonding over similar past and emotional scars).

“Does this mean no harm no foul and I can be let go? Soon preferably?” Oh right, Loki was still there. In shackles. Looking positively harmless.

Tony and Steve looked at each other and had a silent conversation based on eyebrow raises and mouth twists. They didn’t really want to turn Loki over to SHIELD, if nothing else because Thor would be impossible to put up with if they did. Wanting to see him interact with Darcy wasn’t enough reason to keep him chained to a post at the Tower and returning him to Asgard was futile.

“Well, your powers have diminished considerably…” Steve pondered, trying to mask his smile at Loki’s enthusiasm. Truth be told Loki had had them at his mercy in their most frail states and he hadn’t done anything apart from joining in the _fun_. For the time being, he didn’t constitute much of a threat. “I guess we can let you go.”

Tony pulled a key out of his bottomless pocket and undid the handcuffs. “I guess it would be too much to ask if you could refrain from trying to take over the world in the near future? We need to try this vacation thing again soon and would love to do it uninterrupted.”

Loki’s smile was all sparkle and naughtiness. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep Mr. Stark. Annoying Ones, Thor, I shall see you soon.” The look he gave his brother, soft and caring, along with the fact that he walked out of the suite instead of disappearing into thin air, convinced Steve and Tony they had made the right decision.

So they called off the Saint Bernard brigade and got on a plane. They returned to New York and attended the Peace Conference (which was a moderate success, not that anyone was expecting it to be a complete one). Fury’s infuriation was curbed by the fact that out of all of them, Bruce had been the only one to behave and stay indoors unexposed. He had also been the only one to actually get any rest, but no one seemed to care about that. They got so much more than rest out of the eventful weekend. Romantic feelings had turned into relationships, brothers had gotten to spend time together without killing each other, a certain red head spy was spurred to pick up the phone and call an old beau and another red head started a new betting pool entitled “How long until Metal Head and Apple Pie get married and adopt Bug Boy?”. All was well in the world of the superheroes and when they went back into battle, it was with renewed spirits and a spring in their, uh, fight?

Also, if Tony was secretly planning their next trip to a small European capital with a well known _Everything Goes_ attitude then, well, no one had to know about it until the time came.

(But when the time did come around, it was a success of epic proportions.)

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the end of the narrative, but not the complete end of the story. I feel like I only wrote the fallout of the binge and left out all the fun about what actually happened. So next (and final) chapter will be a sort of post credit scene (it’s not Marvel if it doesn’t have a post credit scene) with events of the night itself. Hope you can stick around for that.  
> Also, if anyone was wondering (probably weren’t) the peace conference mentioned was intergalactic, arranged to discuss the Scrull/Kree war and the way it was affecting Earth. Don’t know enough about it to elaborate, so I left it pretty vague.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written and re-written to exhaustion; I tried to go with comedy, ended up with mushiness instead. It happens.  
> Oh and there's two F-words, hope it doesn't offend anyone.  
> Still inspired by http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/29204305914/the-avengers-get-a-hangover  
> Last chapter, hope you like it.

**Las Vegas**

**The Night Itself**

“Taxi!”

Tony was feeling light and fluffy. That was a funny word, fluffy. It reminded Tony of a bunny. Or Steve. Steve was a bunny. A big, beautiful, bun…

“I miss Bruce.” Clint interrupted Tony’s ( _quite serious, thank you very much_ ) train of thoughts with a grumbled complain. “Why couldn’t he come with us?”

“Because he’s as fun as a wet blanket.” Tony answered drily, just out of spite (he didn’t like having his thoughts interrupted; yet another reason why he worked better alone). Steve looked reproachful and Clint wounded/murderous, so he relented. “Bruce wanted to stay because he doesn’t like to drink. Or gamble. Or anything we’re going to do tonight.” It’s not that Tony was happy with the change of plans; he had been rather keen on forcing Bruce to have _fun_. But as his friend had so convincingly put it, they had different ideas of what the word fun meant. Tony didn’t like it, but he accepted it. Cupid seemed to be having a hard time doing the same, if the pout was anything to go by. “It’s better this way. Look on the bright side, we got a demi-god in his place.” Thor and Loki were finishing the Asgardian mead, looking as brotherly and peaceful as anyone had ever seen them, all smiles and rib elbowing.

That didn’t placate Clint (he still had some not so hidden resentment towards the _puny god,_ at the time strangely mellowed down), but he smiled regardless. He let the subject go, opting to go poke at Natasha’s pretty up do, trying to understand how it defied gravity and staid up (hair spray and bobby pins, but Natasha wasn’t about to spoil his fun by letting him know).

Steve bumped his shoulder against Tony. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere with ham. And beer. I’m hungry.” Along with the fuzziness came the complete absence of memory of the night’s plans. Tony kept waving his arm madly, already missing his familiar facial hair that made getting services so much easier. Spotting his difficulty, Natasha straightened her shoulders and took a step forward.

“Allow me.”

Tony sputtered. “That womanly charm thing doesn’t really work in real life buttercup, so you might as well…” Natasha hiked her dress, flashing her shapely leg at the street. Immediately, a white cab stopped in front of them. “Need a lift, miss?”

The others looked between the cab and Tony amused. The genius didn’t let it get to him, his spirits much too high to let something so small bring him down.

“Shut up and get in bitches. We’re going partying.”

*

“Tony, marry me.”

Tony had dreams, okay? He had things he wanted in life, things he _craved_ , but knew he couldn’t have. He was okay with it. Maybe not okay, but he dealt with them. He already had so much in life it didn’t seem fair to whine about the few things he didn’t. So Steve was firmly tucked away in a drawer of things that would never be, along with a healthy relationship with his father and a real family.

So when Steve uttered the words, in the middle of a busy Spanish restaurant, while eating jamón and bread soaked in olive oil and tomatoes, he was at a loss.

He and Steve were teammates, friends, and despite the attraction and fondness, they had never spoken about taking their relationship a step forward. He never thought they could take it a step forward. There were about a million things he wanted to say, a million others he wanted to ask, but his mind was strangely at ease. So instead of his normal ranting, he merely smiled.

“Steve, I love you.” And the way Steve’s face lightened up, well, he was pretty sure of the answer even before he said it.

“I love you too Tony. Is that a yes?”

“You want to get married right now?” They were speaking too quietly, almost in whispers, for the rest of the table to hear. Natasha was stealing stuffed peppers from Loki’s plate and giggling at his mock protests, whilst Clint drank Cruzcampo beer like it was water and Thor got rid of his tie in the most creative way he could think of (throwing it to the ceiling wooden beams to try to lace it around one).

If they were in their right minds, if it was a normal day, the spies would have been half listening in to the exchange and listing the one hundred and one reasons it was a bad idea. But it wasn’t a normal day, and they weren’t in their right minds. Which was the only justification possible for the outcome of the conversation, or the way it processed, with no fuss at all.

“I want to get married right now.”

For once in his life, Tony didn’t consider every possible outcome of the situation; he didn’t focus on the millions of things that could, probably would, go wrong. Instead, he looked at Steve’s eyes and held Steve’s hand in his. He thought only of what he wanted right then (because his slow brain wouldn’t allow him to process anything further).

“Sure Cap, I’ll marry you.”

And that was that.

*

“This. This is it.” They had been walking around the strip aimlessly for a few hours, trying to find the perfect wedding chapel. Steve vetoed anything Elvis related (he hadn’t been around for the rock n roll thing) and Tony refused the ones that had too many flowers and tacky music (and by tacky he meant the traditional wedding march played on a cheap keyboard). Natasha kept terrorizing any staff members she deemed weak, so that wasn’t helpful either.

Despite the multitude of chapels, finding one that fit their requirements wasn’t easy.

When they did come across it, the small church was classy, as un-tacky as possible, had pews strong enough to hold two demi-gods and a front lady so tough she fought with Natasha and came up on top. (Yes, Clint made a dirty joke or two. Yes they all pretended not to laugh, while cracking up behind his back.)

Once the paperwork was properly filled, the word properly being very loosely used here (the lady wasn’t strong enough to be heard regarding legalities), Steve looked at Tony with eyes that showed a mix of adoration and happiness (and Loki’s magic, let’s be honest).

“Let’s get married then.”

*

“I, Iron Man, take you, Captain America, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

“I, Captain America, take you, Iron Man, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

Luckily they didn’t have time to write their own vows; otherwise their friends might have tried to commit suicide to avoid the adorableness. They were _glowing_. That was a bit of a cliché, especially considering neither of them were blushing brides, but it was the truth. The pictures and the video would show future them the way they beamed all the way through the ceremony, Tony behaving so well Pepper would have wept (well, he was getting married, she would have wept regardless). It was simple and tasteful and everything a Vegas wedding almost never was (even in an inebriated haze they were proficient).

“With the power invested in me by the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss each other.”

And so they did. Their first kiss (the actual one, not the one they remembered) was at the altar. It started short and sweet, like the promise of more, of years to come. Then it became more passionate, to the point their friends stopped cheering and averted their eyes.

Clint was sure his retinas were permanently scarred.

“That’s… a little gross actually.” He turned to his friend to trade crass remarks, when he noticed her surreptitiously pulling a tissue from her cleavage. “Tasha, are you crying? Are those tears? Are you in pain? Do you need a doctor?”

With a decisively watery snuffle, she flipped the archer the bird, dabbing at her eyes, smudging her make up in the meantime.

“Clint… Fuck off.”

*

“Tasha, this is not a good idea.”

“Clint, for the love of God, shut up. It’s my body, my decision!”

“Yeah Lucille, go all Roe vs. Wade on his ass. What are you looking at me like that? Seriously, no one knows who Lucille Ball is? Not even you, husband? I’m disappointed in you lot. We’re having an _I love Lucy_ marathon once we get home. Also Robin Hood is right, this is stupid shnookums. If anyone should be inking their skin it should be me.”

“No, it shouldn’t.”

“Steve please… Pretty please? Cherry on top?”

“Still no.”

“This is a horrible start to our wedding. I’m having second thoughts already.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not. I still think Ariel’s tattoo is ridiculous.”

“Guys even if I get back together with him, it’s not like he’ll see it. I’m doing this for me, and I’d appreciate it if you all zipped it and let Judey here do his job. Capiche?”

“Still saying this will come back to bite you in the ass. Literally.”

“Clint, really, fuck off.”

*

“I think I’m getting sober.” Clint yelled out, stopping in the middle of the crossroad, oblivious to the honking cars. He sounded anything but sober, despite his claims. His tongue was heavy and his eyes were out of focus, body swaying dangerously on the concrete road. “I think we need to stop for shots.”

Instead of rebuffing his proposal and continuing their way to… The casino? Was that where they were going? Probably. Instead of continuing their way to the casino, the rest of the group yelled out their assents and staggered to the closest bar to down absinthe shots. Because if there was something their increasingly muddled brains needed was more alcohol.

“Tony…” Natasha snuggled to her former boss’ side after tossing down another thimble of green alcohol. “This was your best idea ever. Ever!”

*

_It's getting hot in here, so hot, so take off all your clothes._

By the time they reached the strip club, their happiness had turned into drunkenness. Or druggedness. Was that a word? Tony wasn’t sure that was a word. He’d need to get JARVIS on that one, his mind was too nebulous to fully cooperate with him at the time. The point was (because yes, there was a point in there somewhere), by the time they reached the strip club, they were oblivious enough not to notice the absolute sliminess of the place. Instead of twisting their noses in disgust at the sticky floor and the glittery naked skin, they stumbled in clumsily, giggling and holding each other for support.

“Bartender, we’ll have a round of Caipirinhas. Wait, no, Singapore Slings. Never mind, just make them Breakfast in Beds, it’s my goal for tomorrow anyway.” The bartender looked at Tony in confusion, obviously not used to making such complicated drinks. With an overdramatic roll of his eyes, the genius tried to hop over the bar (ended up stumbling over it quite clumsily) and took the shaker off the bartender’s lax hands. “Gimme that you uneducated buffoon. Watch and learn.”

Because it was clear that they were harmless (wasn’t that a laugh?) and Tony actually knew what he was doing, the barkeep and the club staff let them be. Tony mixed drinks with surprisingly deft fingers, grumbling occasionally about the lack of quality ingredients (who didn’t have syrup made from wildflower honey, really?), but entertaining his friends and the other club patrons. Steve was sucking on a crazy straw (those they did have), seemingly unnoticing the strong liquor he was ingesting, Natasha and Clint were grinding against each other in between giggles and the Grimm Brothers were trying to out drink each other with Tony’s experiments.

“I like this one!” Thor remarked loudly (easily heard above the club music), finishing his strawberry margarita. “ANOTHER!” And he proceeded to smash the glass into the grubby floor. It said something about the club atmosphere that no one even blinked. Steve was about to lecture the demi-god about Earth manners and the faux pas that breaking dishes was (they had been over it many, many times before; it got to the point where he was given plastic cups and plates for meals because Tony was tired of repurchasing), but Loki beat him to the punch.

“You are a brute, brother and I am glad we are not related by blood. The mere thought of it embarrasses me.” Well, that’s what he meant to say. In his increasing drunken stupor, it sounded more like. “You stupid Tho. Glad I’m not your weal bwother.”

And that led Thor to look like a kicked puppy, protruding bottom lip and everything. Steve took a deep swallow off his drink and was preparing to do some parenting (for Christ sake Odin, you missed a few spots), but Thor’s sadness evaporated when he listened closely to the song that was blaring through the low quality speakers.

_I am, getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off_

“The rhythm of the music is quite enticing.” They were lucky his attention span was short, otherwise he might have been bawling all over an annoyed looking Loki. He was like a Labrador, cute, impulsive and a handful. “And its advice is quite clever.”

Yeah, sure, Nelly was a poet.

Steve looked at Tony questioningly, but Tony merely shrugged in response. As far as he was concerned, if no one was killing each other, he wasn’t butting in. He chose to down tequila shots and kiss the vodka off Steve’s lips instead.

“That is a cape fit for a king! I wonder if the hero lady would mind letting me borrow it…”

*

“Go Thor, shake your moneymaker!”

“Tony don’t enra… don’t encoudj… don’t encorda… My brain feels funny.”

“It’s the alcohol dear, welcome to being a normal human. Hey, what’s Clint doing? Clint that’s very sharp, Clint… Oh shit, call a cab! Legolas, try not to drip blood all over your suit, it was expensive. Ouch, what? What did I say?”

*

“I want Bruce!” Clint’s voice was loud in the semi-deserted early dawn hospital corridor. The doctor who was sewing his finger was trying to be comprehensive, but mostly failing due to her patient’s annoying cries. He wasn’t garnering much sympathy from his friends either; it’s not like they hadn’t seen him in much worse states before, powering through deadly wounds with stony faces and refusals to take pain meds.

The mixture of alcoholic drinks must have gotten to him.

The red head sitting on the floor next to his bed rolled her eyes annoyed. “Clint if you don’t shut up, I’ll sew that finger on myself.” Her buzz was slowly diminishing and she was getting cranky. Or back to normal, whatever. “Also, Bruce is at the hotel and if you shut up, then we’ll go see him soon, ok?”

Clint nodded, sniffling wetly, while Thor petted his hair like he was a particularly shaggy dog (not ironic at all). For a few seconds, it looked like he was going to let the doctor work and remain quiet, but after a couple more stitches he started howling. “Bruce! Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce.”

Loki, leaning against the door and managing to look polished in spite of his half naked state and flushed skin, drawled impavid. “I liked him better when he was under my mind control. What? Iron Man, back me up here, wasn’t he much more pleasant as an unwilling foot soldier? No? Just me then.”

*

“Loki, let’s never fight again.” Thor was draped over his brother, both stumbling on the pavement outside the hospital. “I miss being in your presence and not be forced to cause you bodily harm. I miss the days we fought side by side, and not against each other.” That was a whole lot more than anyone should be able to utter under the influence. Then again, Thor was not anyone.

Normally Loki would shrug him off, but the demi-god must have been considerably more affected by the alcohol than before, because he simply hugged Thor tighter against him and sobbed. “I only ever wanted to be worthy. I wanted father to love me. WHY WON’T HE LOVE ME?”

The brothers proceeded to weep miserably, holding each other tightly, swaying on the sidewalk. Tony, too tired and blurry to think of blackmail material and pictures, just buried his head in Steve’s neck and decided, with a half shrug. “That’s it, we’re getting into the first hotel we see.”

*

“Shouldn’t we go back to our own hotel?” Steve slurred when he fell on the, admittedly comfortable, bed of their new hotel bedroom. Tony had gotten them the honeymoon suite with a quick show of their fingers and a smile, completely unashamed about their nuptials and it was a very nice room. He laid down next to Steve, snuggled to his pillow and looking for the other man’s legs with his own. “Bruce will worry.”

“Bruce’s fine. He’s… reading or sciencing, or something. Hotel’s too far. Here’s good.” His left eye peeked open and he smiled, hand reaching out to touch Steve’s face softly. The golden band felt cold against the heated skin. “We got married.” His tone was lazily awed, like he couldn’t believe it had happened, couldn’t believe he was so lucky.

“We did. We should probably talk about it.” They should. They had, after all, admitted love and gotten married in less than six hours. That kind of life changing action should definitely be discussed. At length. Thoroughly. Intimately. Which reminded him… “We’re not having wedding day sex.”

“Cliché. It can wait. Sex and talk can wait.” Not words the _geniusbillionaireplayboyphilanthropist_ ever thought he would say. At least not about sex. His mind was just too tired to coax any part of his body to move enough for something other than light petting or heavy sleeping. Drowsily, Tony leaned forward to peck Steve’s lips once more. “Good night husband.”

“Good night Tony.”

They’d figure everything else out in the morning. Or the one after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all folks!  
> As a first fanfiction writing/posting experience, this was a very positive one. Well, I learned that trying to keep deadlines is pointless and I rewrite too much to be considered healthy, but apart from that, it was great.  
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, high-five to all who left kudos and bro fist to the ones who commented (your kind words were great incentive).  
> Until the next time, Allex Out.


End file.
